


The Gunslinger

by toad_in_the_road



Series: The Mandalorian: A Western AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Baby Yoda is human but still great I promise, Bounty Hunters, Confederate Army, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Father Figures, Fluff, Gen, He really do got that big iron on his hip though, Horses, How cool is that, Hurt/Comfort, Kachina, Magic, Native American Character(s), Native American/First Nations Legends & Lore, Post-Civil War, Prison Breaks, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Star Wars AU, The Force, The Razor Crest is a horse, Union Army, Vaquero - Freeform, Western AU, Wild West, because I made IG-11 a literal crackhead, cowboy, im gay, it makes more sense in context i promise, it's the same thing but now instead of a space cowboy he's a regular cowboy, putting my ap us history class to use finally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toad_in_the_road/pseuds/toad_in_the_road
Summary: After the war between the North and the South, lawlessness has spread throughout the western territories. A lone gunfighter makes his way through the plains and deserts, earning his keep as a bounty hunter.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), IG-11 (Star Wars) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Client & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: The Mandalorian: A Western AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601287
Comments: 46
Kudos: 108





	1. The Gunslinger

**Author's Note:**

> welcome everyone, i was sucked into this show expecting to watch disney tell me to marvel at how cool this guy was, not hurt me with this space cowboy and his space son
> 
> so here, i made them real cowboys
> 
> obviously, a lot of adjustment went into it, so i hope it's not too jarring. I did use a lot of Native American folklore, and did depict things as they were-which is, not great for the Natives. There's not excessive violence, but you know.
> 
> please tell me if any of the folklore im using is offensive, or if the way i'm using it is offensive.
> 
> anyway, enjoy our cowboy, and feel free to ask for clarification if i failed in explaining something

It was hell on Earth.

High noon was the time of day when everything scuttled for cover, not wanting to be caught in the vicious sun, who on this particular day decided it had it out for everyone. People hid in buildings, just as hot as before but at least hiding from the sun. Tied to their posts, horses languished in the heat, sticking their noses into the tepid water trough, not drinking, just seeking some shelter from the heat. Even the lizards, usually oh so excited to sit on the wooden posts and nap, hid under the dust, waiting for the hour to pass. The railroad town, usually so busy and bustling, had fallen silent. Deserted.

Except for a lone man, walking through the empty streets with purpose, immune to the sun’s rays. One bay horse snorted and flicked it’s tail, as if asking it’s companions _‘Who the hell is this guy?’_

The Gunslinger looked up and down the streets, eyes coming to rest on a fat donkey, it’s tail flicking madly and stomping with irritation, evidently put off by not being allowed in the saloon.

The donkey of a certain man.

The Gunslinger’s fingers edged on the pistol in his holster, and then continued to walk.

*** *** ***  
The pale man winces, face pressed against the dirty table. “Wait, no please!” He begs the aggressors, three big hulking men. One was pinning him down with one hand, laughing at his fear. The bartender looks nervous, not wanting to get involved. It’s annoying, but he couldn’t really be blamed. “I have money.” The man says. “Take it!” 

The men ignores his pleas, yanking him up. The lankiest of the men pulls out a long hunting knife, grinning maniacally. The pale man can smell hard whiskey on his breath.

The door swings open, and sunlight pierced for a moment through the dim and dusty room before swinging shut, revealing the dim silhouette of a man, face obscured by his hat and bandanna except for his dark eyes, scanning the room. 

The slamming of the door has caused one of the men’s whiskey glasses to crash to the ground. The Gunslinger takes no notice of this, walking over to the bar and sitting down. “Hey!” The man with the knife says. “You made me spill my drink!” 

The Gunslinger does not respond.

“Hey, _cowboy,”_ The man spits, as if cowboy was a vicious slur. “I said you made me spill my drink.”

The Gunslinger does not respond.

Desperate to avoid a brawl, the bartender speaks up in a small voice. “It’s fine.” He turns, grabbing the whiskey and a new cup. “It’s on me.”

The other two men drop the pale man, more interested in the newcomer. They lean over his shoulder. 

The Gunslinger does not respond. 

“Here.” The bartender says, sliding the shot glass across the bar. 

Now the Gunslinger responds.

He moves quickly, jerking his elbows roughly into the face of his attackers, and they fall back, more surprised than hurt. He grabs the shot glass, smashing it against the face of the man with the knife. He grabs the man to his left, yanking him up and slamming his face into the counter so hard the wood cracks. The man with the knife tries to get up again, but the Gunslinger is quicker, knocking him out with one swift punch. 

The man that was to the Gunslinger’s right decides he’s had enough, and tries to run. He manages to get to his horse, untangling the reins before he falls to the ground, dead by a bullet from the Gunslinger’s pistol. The horse balks, but quickly calms, apparently not all that attached to it’s master. 

The bar is silent, heat engulfing the room again.

The pale man stands up shakily, noticing the Gunslinger coming towards him. He manages a smile. “Thank you.” He pants. “Thank you very much. You have my heartfelt gratitude.”

The Gunslinger looks at him, eyes unreadable, devoid of emotion.

The pale man shuffles, and tries for a smile again. “You know what? Here.” He puts several Union bills on the table, sliding them over to the Gunslinger. “Take my money.” He gestures to the bar. “Buy yourself a drink.” 

In response, the Gunslinger lays down a warrant of arrest for David Schereville, Union deserter. The pale man-Schererville-shifts, looking at the warrant. “Uh…”

“I can bring you in warm,” The Gunslinger says, speaking for the first time. He shifts his hand to his pistol, still hot from the shot that killed the man outside. “Or I can bring you in cold.” 

Schereville looks up at the Gunslinger, the man with the voice as empty as his eyes. There’s no cruelty, but no enjoyment either. Just a need to survive.

Schererville chooses warm. 

*** *** ***

The trip back was uneventful for the most part. Schererville talks a lot about nothing, and the Gunslinger sits in silence on the train. The Gunslinger wasn’t a fan of the more traditional route-horseback-and besides, the conductor had let them on for free after seeing hearing what had transpired in the bar. Trains were quicker, even if he had to ride in a boxcar.

Schererville tried to bribe the Gunslinger half-heartedly into letting him go, but gave up fairly quickly. He realized Union money was fairly useless at the moment. After the war, there seemed to be too many warrants and not enough valuable cash to go around, unless you happen to live in the Northeast, which the Gunslinger did not. 

They arrived in Nevarro, the tiny town that had a train depot, bounty hunters and not much else, just as the sun was beginning to set. A pair of Union officers were waiting, well dressed and uncomfortable. Schererville gave a shout of protest being grabbed by them, but there wasn’t much he could do. 

“Thank you for your service, Mr…?” The officer asked, waiting for the Gunslinger to give his name. The Gunslinger didn’t.

The officer coughed uncomfortably, before grabbing the prisoner and shuffling away, thrusting a stack of Union bills into the Gunslinger’s hand. 

The Gunslinger was disappointed, but not surprised to find many useless Confederate notes hidden within the stack once the officers left with their quarry. 

The Gunslinger walked into the main saloon of the town, ignoring the sideways glances he got from the others, making his way to the booth always occupied by the same man, Greef Karga. Karga looked at the Gunslinger with mild surprise. “That was fast.” He said.

The Gunslinger didn’t answer, sitting down in the booth. He dropped the stack of money he was given. “These are Confederate notes.” He said.

“And Union.” Karga said.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” The Gunslinger said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “But Union bills are nearly worthless from the war.”

Karga sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” He shuffled, grabbing several small warrants from his coat pocket. “We have...a deserter...a deserter...a Confederate deserter, shake things up a little...a stage coach bandit-”

“I’ll take them all.” The Gunslinger said, reaching out for the warrants, but Karga pulled back. 

“No, hold on. There are other bounty hunters, and this is all I have.” Karga said.

“Why so slow?” The Gunslinger asked.

“It’s not slow at all, actually. Very busy. But the people on the other end of the warrants don’t want to pay.” Karga said, looking angry. 

The Gunslinger supposed he should be angry as well, but all he felt was dull irritation. “What’s your highest bounty?” 

“Not much.” Karga said, handing the said warrant to the Gunslinger. He looked it over, and this time felt a distant, but real worry. 

“This will hardly buy a drink these days.” He said.

Karga paused, looking suddenly unsure. “...there is one job.” He managed to get out. 

“Let’s see the warrant.” The Gunslinger said.

“No warrant. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.” Karga said.

The Gunslinger tilted his head, intrigued. “Underworld?” He asked. Such bounties were not unheard of. Usually, they were personal matters, and they almost always ended in bloodshed, either for the bounty, the hunter, or the one offering the money. But the Gunslinger had no intention of being the one caught in the crossfire.

“All I know is they want it on the down low.” Karga said. He pulled out a scrap of paper and pencil, scribbling something down. “You want the job or not?” He held out the paper to the Gunslinger.

He hesitated, just for a moment, before grabbing the paper and leaving the saloon, whispers following him the entire way out. 

*** *** ***

He did not hesitate when he knocked on the door of the old stablehouse. It had fallen into disuse, and the Gunslinger had a difficult time imagining anyone there. All the same, a raspy voice yelled out. “Who is it?!”

“Karga sent me. I’m here for the bounty.” The Gunslinger answered, voice even. There was shuffling behind the door, and the Gunslinger touched the brim of his hat, trying to convince himself he didn’t feel a vague anxiety at the complete lack of details given for the job.

The door swung open, and it clicked.

Confederate soldiers. A lot of them.

Their grey uniforms were covered with mud and dust, and a darker stain that the Gunslinger knew well. Their faces looked hallowed from hard work and hunger, but the hate, disdain and fury in their eyes kept the Gunslinger from feeling sorry for them. 

There was a soft ‘tsk’ noise. A Confederate officer sat in the corner at a table, looking far more kept together than his soldiers. “Garrett Karga said you were coming.” He said, voice hoarse. Or maybe that was just how he sounded.

“What else did he say?” The Gunslinger said, going towards the officer.

“That you were the best in the territory.” The officer said. He leaned forward, looking yellow in the dim light. He smiled, but it looked forced. “He also said you were expensive. Very expensive.”

He gestured to the chair. “Please, sit.”

The Gunslinger did so, tense and nervous. The officer slid something towards him, covered by a linen cloth. He carefully unwrapped it.

Most other men would have gasped, but the Gunslinger’s eyes merely widened at the bar made of solid gold, labeled with CSA.

Confederate gold. 

“Go ahead. It’s real.” The officer said. Hesitantly, the Gunslinger reached out, picking up the gold bar, feeling it’s weight. “This is only a down payment. I have more gold waiting for you upon delivery of the asset.” He paused. “Alive, but…” He leaned forward. “Bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, a proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.”

The Gunslinger paused, absorbing this. “Do you have a description?” He asked.

“I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional hunt. I can only offer you this.” He pulled a small, green-blue stone decorated with black flecks out of his pocket. “They will be wearing a turquoise stone like this around their neck.” 

The Gunslinger blinked. “How do you know?”

“They are near a town called Angel Way.” The man continued, ignoring the Gunslinger’s question. “A man of your skill should make short work of this.” 

The Gunslinger was quiet. He had taken seedy jobs from seedy people before, sure, but this was different. All he had was a stupid stone. 

But all that gold. Even the chance of getting it…

The Gunslinger took the stone, the gold, and left before the Confederate soldiers got antsier.

*** *** ***  
The _vaquero_ outpost was tiny, but bustling with life. Young children ran around the Gunslinger, taking no notice of him. Others around him were working-preparing saddles, curing leather-all in the quiet. 

Since the Mexican-American war, _vaqueros_ had been regarded with suspicion before the Creed was formed. Nevarro had been hit especially hard by the fighting, but it had been knocked off its feet once again with the North and South at each other’s throat. 

If the soldiers still mingling here discovered a huge underground _vaquero_ group…

One or two was okay, but this many in one place? They reeked of a rebellion, even if it wasn’t the intention.

Secrecy was a way of life now.

The _cabecilla_ was generally in the armory, checking for any imperfection in their weapons. The Gunslinger came in, and sat on the small stool. She did not acknowledge him.

Just as he was about to speak up, she came to him, sitting on the stool opposite, the table between them. She waited. 

The Gunslinger put his bills on the table, and then carefully set down the bar of gold. The _cabecilla_ paused, picking up the gold and looking it over, checking if it was real. 

“This was Aztec gold.” The _cabecilla_ said. The Gunslinger didn’t ask how she knew. She just did. She glanced at the Gunslinger, curious. “Has your signet been revealed yet?” 

“Not yet.”

“Soon.” She said, with the air of knowledge that could have meant ‘soon’ as in next week, or ‘soon’ in several years.

“This is generous.” She took the gold bar. “It will sponsor many foundlings.” 

“That’s good.” The Gunslinger said. “I was once a foundling.” 

“I know.” The _cabecilla_ said.

Unbidden, images flashed before the Gunslingers eyes.

_Running, panicked, hearing screams around him._

_Gunfire, explosions that hurt his ears._

_Shoved behind barrells and being begged to stay put._

_And then he was alone._

*** *** ***

When the officer said the target was in Angel Way, he meant the one hundred mile radius around it, an empty plain, as faceless as an ocean.

Luckily, a townsperson said there was a Sioux Indian camp to the west. That was a start. The Sioux took prisoners, nervous and distrustful from the fighting near them. It was possible the target was with them. 

He rubbed the turquoise stone between his gloves fingers, squinting as the sun shone directly in his eyes. 

And then it all went to hell.

There was a shrill noise and a grey blur, and the Gunslinger was flung back by a harsh kick to the ribs by a huge grey mustang, ears pinned and eyes wild. 

Surprised by the sudden attack, the Gunslinger scrambled back, panting from pain and shock, hoping the kick hadn’t broken his ribs.

But the mustang wasn’t done, furious at the Gunslinger for an unknown transgression. It charged, and the Gunslinger could tell it wasn’t a bluff. He fumbled for his pistol, still half-stunned-

The mustang jerked back, stopped in its tracks.

The Gunslinger sat up, panting, seeing the horse rear wildly, white pupils rolling in it’s head like marbles. He shuffled back quickly as the hooves struck the soil, kicking up stones and a few weeds unfortunate enough to be near it. The horse strained against the rope, letting out a noise that was more of a furious scream than a whinny. 

In short, it looked like the devil. 

He heard a soft whistling noise, and glanced up, surprised to see a rider seated on a roan Appaloosa, long black hair pulled back, a gloved hand gripping a lariat tightly. Both horse and rider seemed to be perfectly serene with the manic horse. 

The Gunslinger scrambled to his feet, embarrassed to be seen nearly trampled, completely disheveled. Eventually, the horse gave one more kick, desperately yanking on the rope before finally stilling, eyeing them both distrustfully. 

“Thank you.” The Gunslinger managed to say. The man nodded at him. Based on his hair and clothing, the Gunslinger was guessing he was Cherokee.

“You are a bounty hunter.” The Cherokee man said. 

“Yes.” The Gunslinger agreed, standing up, a bit shaky.

The Cherokee man regarded him. “I will help you.” He decided aloud. The Gunslinger looked at him in surprise. “I have spoken.” The Cherokee man said with finality. He nudged the roan horse’s side, pulling the grey mustang with him, the devil to exhausted to put up a good fight.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger sat cross legged at the tiny ranch. Ranch wasn’t even a good work for it. It was essentially a tent with a stable and corral. The Gunslinger could hear the grey mustang galloping around the corral, anxious and aggressive. Sometimes, it would give its shrill, screaming whinny. The Cherokee man took no notice of his reluctant visitor, and he shuffled around, looking for something. 

“Many have passed through.” He said. He glanced at the Gunslinger. “They seek the same one as you.”

“Did you help them?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Yes.” Said the Cherokee man. “They died.”

The Gunslinger was suddenly wary. “Well, then I don’t know if I want your help.”

“You do.” The Cherokee man held that same finality in his words. “I can show you to the Sioux camp.”

“What’s your cut?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Peace to my modest valley.” The Cherokee man said, coming to sit across from the Gunslinger. “We will need to leave soon if you want to arrive before nightfall.”

The Gunslinger decided not to dispute the man guiding him for free. “We can leave immediately.”

The Cherokee man shook his head. “No. It will take time for me to tack the mustang for you. And more time to tame him.” As if knowing it was being spoken about, another screaming whinny echoed.

“Can that not wait until later?” The Gunslinger asked. 

“Not if you want to ride him.” The Cherokee man answered.

The Gunslinger paused, words sinking in. “I...I’ve never broken in a horse.”

“Not breaking.” The Cherokee man scolded. “Taming. A mustang is not a pair of shoes to be trodden upon until they fit you. You will tame your mustang, and then we will go.”

The Cherokee man stood up. “I have spoken.”

*** *** ***  
The Gunslinger slipped out of the corral quickly again as the mustang charged him. “This is a waste of time.” He said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.

The Cherokee man looked disappointed. “He doesn’t like you.” 

“I noticed. Let me just borrow one of your horses-” The Gunslinger trailed off when the Cherokee man shook his head.

“No. This one. This one is yours.” He said.

“You caught it. And it tried to kill me.” The Gunslinger said.

The Cherokee man smiled wanly. “He is a true mustang. They are like fire; powerful, spirited creatures. But he is also afraid and alone.” He gestured to the mustang, who was pacing the edges of the corral, pinning its ears back when it got within three feet of the men. It bucked and swung its head, trying to rid itself of the saddle and bridle the Cherokee man had somehow managed to get on it. It chomped on the bit viciously. 

“Yeah, sure.” The Gunslinger said, slipping back into the corral, recognizing the Cherokee man would not budge. The mustang immediately went on alert, standing with its legs stiff as if preparing to charge.

“You are a _vaquero_ , your ancestors tamed these animals and ruled the desert with them.” The Cherokee man scolded.

The Gunslinger took a deep breath, looking at the mustang, stiff and ears pinned. He whistled softly, edging forward. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He said, feeling silly.

The mustang flicked its tail, looking curious. 

The Gunslinger whistled again, and stepped forward. The mustang’s ears flicked, and it trotted in a circle around the Gunslinger anxiously, head high and proud. The Gunslinger followed it with no speed, trying not to startle it. 

“That’s enough.” He said, trying to adopt the tone of finality that the Cherokee man had. The mustang snorted. The Gunslinger whistled again.

This time, the mustang got curious, approaching the Gunslinger cautiously, reaching his great big grey head out to sniff, as if he was able to smell ill intent. The Gunslinger shuffled forward, and the mustang spooked, nearly rearing, but ultimately came forward again. 

This time, the mustang allowed the Gunslinger to touch him. 

Heart pounding, the Gunslinger gently stroked the mustang, who was still staring at him suspiciously. He carefully shuffled to the side of the mustang, and swung up into the saddle before the mustang could spook again.

The reaction was immediate. The mustang gave its scream-whinny, and bucked and reared with vengeance. The Gunslinger gripped the saddle pommel so tightly it hurt his palms, and he prayed he wasn’t thrown. Being thrown from the saddle would likely kill him, and if it didn’t, the mustang would trample him instead.

For what seemed like hours, the mustang gave one more infinite rear and stopped, panting, but head held high. Not giving up, just agreeing to compromise. 

“A true mustang has a fiery temper.” The Cherokee man said, looking pleased at this new development. “They are fast, stubborn, and will fight until their final breath. But they are fiercely loyal, passionate animals as well. They are never truly broken in.” 

_Wonderful,_ The Gunslinger thought. _Nothing better than an unpredictable horse._

All the same, he supposed having an animal on his side with the power to knock him down several times was a good ally. Assuming the mustang didn’t change his mind about allowing the Gunslinger to be near him, that is. 

The Cherokee man climbed easily into the saddle of his serene Appaloosa, the spotted horse regarding them with mismatched eyes; one blue and one brown. The Cherokee man opened the corral, and the Gunslinger pulled hard on the reins to keep the mustang from bolting. 

“I will take you as far as the hill where they are located.” The Cherokee man said. “Then you are on your own. I have spoken.” He clicked his tongue, and the Appaloosa turned, starting to canter towards the hills to the west, the grey mustang fighting to run every second of the way. 

*** *** ***

The Sioux camp was small, but armed to the teeth. 

The Gunslinger was laying down on his stomach at the crest of the hill, just out of sight, trying to figure out how to get down without being killed immediately. Every single man in the camp carried a rifle, and though the Gunslinger couldn’t see, he wouldn’t be surprised if several had pistols on them as well. 

From up here, he had trouble seeing individual details, and his binoculars were fairly useless, as the sun was opposite to where he was, and the first time he looked through them he nearly blinded himself. 

The Gunslinger squinted, looking for any spot of green-blue that could be the stone, but it was useless. There was no way he would be able to pick that out from up here.

The Gunslinger paused when he heard a loud popping noise, and the rest of the Sioux did as well, tensing in preparation for a fight. The Gunslinger heard a whoop, and one of the men fell. Almost before the Gunslinger could blink, a tiny, golden Arabian sprinted into the camp at almost supersonic speed, and the man riding it whoop maniacally, shooting without looking. 

The Gunslinger grumbled, realizing what this person was immediately. An addict. It wasn’t uncommon for various people to hire out addicts to do the dirty jobs, as they generally worked for drugs, not pay. Surely he had to be here for the bounty. How had he gotten it? How many bounty hunters had the Confederate officer hired?

The golden Arabian skidded to a stop with almost dance-like grace, and the addict swung off with more balance than he ought to have, shooting two more Sioux before diving behind a crate for cover.

The Gunslinger realized that this was his best chance to get down without everyone shooting at him, and before he could reconsider, he sprinted down the hillside, shooting the one unlucky Sioux who happened to notice him. He dove behind a crate to the right of the addict, who was laughing like he was having the time of his life.

“What the hell are you doing?!” The Gunslinger demanded. The addict looked awful. He had unkempt auburn hair and stubble, and despite not looking older than twenty five, he had grey streaks in his hair. His face was hollow and pale, and his hands shook as he reloaded his pistol. 

“G-g-g-getting paid, what e-else?!” He stuttered out, turning to the Gunslinger. His pupils were blown to hell, confirming the Gunslinger’s suspicion that he was drugged out of his mind, probably on cocaine. 

“You’re going to get us all killed!” The Gunslinger yelled, peeking out and shooting, starting to feel desperate. His stomach dropped, seeing several men roll out an artillery cannon. How the hell did they get that?! “Okay…” He said out loud, feeling sick. 

“How about this!” The Gunslinger said, realizing he was running out of options. “We get the asset together, and split the bounty!”

The addict cackled, high and wild. “I like t-t-the way you think!” He grinned, glancing back at the Gunslinger, awaiting instructions. 

So now he had an unstable maniac watching his back. Great. “Cover me!” The Gunslinger dove out from behind the crate, followed by the addict, just as the cannon went off. The cannonball hit the ground, and the force threw the Gunslinger off his feet. The golden Arabian pranced nervously, dodging any attempts of the Sioux to grab it. The Gunslinger stood up, slightly shaky, his ears ringing, but kept shooting.

By now, the Sioux had decided that their prisoner wasn’t worth the trouble. They shouted, grabbing their panicked horses and galloping off in a hasty retreat. The addict continued to shoot at them even as they disappeared over the hill, but soon the camp was silent except for his heavy breathing.

The addict whistled, and the Arabian trotted up to the shaking man, nickering softly. The addict grinned. “W-w-well, I don’t believe I even i-i-i-introduced myself. I’m Isaiah G-g-g-green, and my partner h-h-here is Ellie.” He scratched the Arabian’s chin, grinning lopsidedly, eyes uneven and darting. The drugs were wearing off.

The Gunslinger didn’t bother with his own introduction. “Is the asset in here?” He glanced at the last tent, sitting silent and unsuspecting. 

“I s-sure hope so. Wouldn’t be g-g-good for anyone if t-t-they ran off.” Green said, pulling out an unused pistol from the Arabian-Ellie, what a stupid name-saddlebag. He loaded it, hands shaking so badly he dropped several bullets. “Hopefully they ain’t s-s-stupid enough to t-t-try and fight.”

The Gunslinger was nearly certain they would. Prey sometimes only becomes vicious when cornered. He readied his rifle, slowly going to the entrance of the tent. He flung the flap open and stepped in, rifle raised, Green right behind him.

The Gunslinger froze.

There was a very small child huddled in the corner, Indian by the look of them. Their hair was shaggy, bordering on the long side and they wore a simple tan shirt and pants, their feet bare. They stared at the Gunslinger with big eyes, looking entirely unconcerned. 

The Gunslinger was about to ask the kid if they had seen anything, and then the kid shifted, and the Gunslinger saw they were wearing the same stone he had in his pocket, on a simple brown string.

The Gunslinger felt his stomach drop.

“What?” He asked out loud. “They didn’t say it was a child.” 

“Don’t m-m-matter much.” Green said, raising his pistol. The Gunslinger pushed his arm down.

“They wanted them alive.” The Gunslinger said, feeling sick for a reason he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) identify.

Green gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t k-know who the hell gave you y-y-your instructions, b-but I was told to bring a body b-b-b-b-b-b-” He gave up, looking at the Gunslinger with blank slate eyes that had been written over with bloodlust by his employers. “You know w-what I mean.”

The Gunslinger did. He stepped back.

Green raised his gun-

And fell with a painful grunt, head bashed by the metal back of the Gunslinger’s rifle as hard as the bounty hunter could. He crumpled in on himself, eyes open and glazed over.

It was silent outside, except for the distant call of an eagle, as if signaling a new era.

And the strange child did not move, staring at the Gunslinger as if they had been waiting for him the whole time.


	2. The Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn i churned this one out fast
> 
> is my former horse girl showing i think it is :(

The kid followed the Gunslinger, for some inexplicable reason.

He were never more than five feet away from him, sometimes rushing ahead to investigate something with wonder, or lagging behind from distraction, but he always rushed back, seeming eager to be around the Gunslinger. The Gunslinger had intended at first to at least tie the kid’s hands up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

_Snap out of it. You have a job to do. You already save the kid from being shot._

The kid hadn’t said a single word since the Gunslinger had met him, and the Gunslinger assumed he didn’t know English. He had a face that made it difficult to estimate his age, but if the Gunslinger had to pick a number, he would have guessed the kid was maybe seven.

The kid stepped delicately over a patch of prickly weeds, and the Gunslinger wondered if he had any extra boots to give them...then shook the thought away. He was going to deliver them to the Confederates. Shoes would be the least of his worries.

_You know whatever the Confederates want won’t be good, right?_

“Shut up.” The Gunslinger muttered aloud to himself. The kid looked up, big eyes looking a bit surprised. The Gunslinger hadn’t spoken to him yet.

“Not you,” The Gunslinger said to the kid. “I…” He cut himself off. He was being ridiculous. 

The Gunslinger went over the crest of the hill, seeing the tree he had tied the grey mustang with a loose lead to so he could graze. The mustang was nowhere to be seen. 

The Gunslinger heard it’s screaming call, and jerked around, seeing a band of several men dressed in black, struggling to drag the mustang to where several more skinny horses were waiting. 

Bandits. 

The Gunslinger immediately pulled out his rifle, easily shooting down one of the bandits.

The bandits panicked, as they often do, and scattered, rushing for their horses. The Gunslinger managed to take out two more before the group set off, their leader dragging the gray mustang.

HIS gray mustang. 

The Gunslinger sprinted along the hillside, following close behind the bandits. Luckily, with their new cargo, they seemed to have an issue picking up speed, and the Gunslinger managed to catch up with the slowest bandit. 

The bandit yelled something in German (German bandits? That was new) and whipped his horse to go faster. The Gunslinger stumbled, managing to grab onto a saddlebag, but now he was being dragged along. The horse leaned, dangerously close to falling on top of the Gunslinger. 

The gray mustang screamed. 

The bandit whacked the Gunslinger with the butt of his pistol, and the Gunslinger let go, startled. His head hit something hard with an audible _whack_ and-

Everything went black.

*** *** ***  
When the Gunslinger came too, the first thing he noticed was the full moon. Night. How long was he out?

The second thing he noticed was the kid leaning over him, a worried expression on his face.

The Gunslinger flinched in surprise, and the kid scrambled back, his expression relieved in the moonlight. 

_Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?_

The Gunslinger sat up slowly, head throbbing. His whole body ached, but he forced himself up anyway. He looked around. He was completely alone. 

He sighed deeply. 

Great. The gray mustang’s saddlebags held all his extra ammunition and supplies. He would never survive the journey back to Nevarro without it. Much less with a sought after bounty. 

There was only one thing he could think to do.

*** *** ***  
“I thought you were dead.” The Cherokee man said, not looking up from grooming the Appaloosa. The kid stared at the horse, his face betraying their slack jawed awe at the animal. 

_Have they never seen a horse before?_

The Gunslinger did not respond.

The Cherokee man looked at the kid, and the kid looked away, suddenly shy, ducking behind the Gunslinger for cover. “He's what’s causing all the fuss?” The Cherokee man asked.

The Gunslinger stepped away, and the kid rushed off, partly from shyness, and partly to find some way to amuse themselves. “I didn’t know it would be a child.” The Gunslinger said. 

“Better to deliver them alive then.” The Cherokee man said, untying the Appaloosa and letting it wander to graze.

“The mustang was taken by bandits. They took all my supplies with them. I’m trapped here.” The Gunslinger said. “I don’t know where they went.”

“I know a few possible locations.” There was a silent sound of surprise, and the Gunslinger and Cherokee man turned to see the kid stalking a very large toad. “You could trade.”

“With bandits? Are you out of your mind?” The Gunslinger said, turning away from the kid. 

“I will take you to them.” The Cherokee man nodded, the finality back. “I have spoken.”

The Gunslinger heard a terrified croak, and turned to see the kid clutching the toad, looking surprised he was holding it. “Hey! Put that down.” The Gunslinger said, impatience putting an edge on his voice. 

The kid looked disappointed, but set down the toad. The toad squeaked, hopping into the tall grass.

*** *** ***

The bandits were camped near the edge of a river, the sound of the water covering up the sound of their arrival. But once they were spotted, the bandits started shouting, rushing to grab weapons. The Cherokee man waved, calling to them in German. (How did he know German?)

The bandits only yelled back.

“They really don’t like you for some reason.” The Cherokee man said with amusement.

“Well, I did shoot a few of them.” The Gunslinger said. 

One of the bandits stepped forward, speaking to the Cherokee man, glaring fiercely at the Gunslinger. “You need to leave your rifle.” The Cherokee man translated.

“Absolutely not.” The Gunslinger said. The kid hid behind him, looking nervously at the bandits.

“Then you aren’t getting the mustang or your supplies back.” The Cherokee man warned.

The Gunslinger looked over, seeing the gray mustang tied up rough, yanking desperately on the lead, trying to leave. This sent a new wave of anger through the Gunslinger, and he slowly, reluctantly set his rifle down.

The bandit snapped something. “And the pistols.” The Cherokee man said. 

The Gunslinger sighed deeply, tempted to just start shooting, but he dutifully set down the twin pistols, following the Cherokee man to the circle of bandits. 

The Cherokee man listened to the bandit, and turned to the Gunslinger. “They said you can have the mustang back for the rifle and pistols.”

“I’m not gonna trade anything.” The Gunslinger leaned forward. “Those are my supplies, and my mustang. They stole them from me.”

The bandit seemed to understand well enough, and grinned. His teeth were yellow. “You are bad trader.” He said in a thick accent. “Can barely understand you through scarf.” The other bandits laughed.

“You understand this?!” The Gunslinger snapped, pulling out a long knife before the Cherokee man could stop him. The bandit jumped back, looking scared, and then scowled. 

The Cherokee man stepped in front of the Gunslinger. “There must be something else he can trade.” 

The bandit paused, said something, and pointed to the kid. The kid pressed close to the Gunslinger, grabbing his arm. He was terrified.

The Gunslinger pulled their arm away.

“No. Absolutely not.” The Gunslinger said.

The Cherokee man relayed this back, and the bandit paused. His eyes widened, and his voice got low. _“Dämonenwolf.”_ He said in a low voice. The bandits broke out in whispers. 

The Cherokee man sighed, as if he had been afraid of this. “Dämonenwolf? What’s that?” 

The Cherokee man turned to face the Gunslinger. “Exactly what it sounds like.” He said solemnly. 

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger stood at the edge of the forest, where he was told this wolf was last seen. Apparently, it had been terrorizing the bandits non-stop. If that was the case, the Gunslinger would have rather thanked it than to kill it, but he had things to do.

The kid stood back, in a brush of taller grass. The Gunslinger had considered leaving the kid with the Cherokee man, but he didn’t trust the bandits, and decided he was likely to make short work of this wolf anyway, with his rifle. He had told the kid to stay in the grass, and could only hope he had the brains to listen. 

The edge of the forest was like a mouth to a cave, the tall trees blocking out the sun, as if light was not allowed to penetrate the domain of the monster. 

And speaking of monster…

There was a low snarl, and the Gunslinger saw two glowing yellow eyes staring out at him. He froze, then slowly readied his rifle as the wolf came out of the forest, snarling.

_Oh my God._

The wolf was massive, bigger than anything the Gunslinger had ever seen in his life, nor cared to imagine. It was half the size of a horse, and twice as muscular. Scars and blood stained it’s grey fur, but the wolf seemed to have no trouble with it’s injuries, staring at the Gunslinger with a very clear intent to kill. 

The Gunslinger hesitated in his shock just a second too long, and the wolf was on his, his arm in it’s great big teeth.

Explosive pain shot through his entire body, and the Gunslinger screamed in agony, crumpling to the ground. His rifle forgotten, he tried to hit the wolf to convince it to let go, but the wolf instead began shaking his arm, shredding his flesh as if it were paper.

The Gunslinger managed to give the wolf a solid hit, nearly incapacitated with pain. The beast dropped his arm, more insulted than hurt, and charged for the tall grass.

“No!” The Gunslinger rasped, and somehow forced himself to grab his pistol with his good arm, shooting at the wolf. He missed, barely able to see through the pain, but it did the job, distracting the wolf to charge him again. 

The Gunslinger grabbed his rifle, using it as a barrier between him and the wolf, who jumped on top of him, teeth inches from his face, claws scratching on his chest. He managed to throw it off, but just as he was rising, the wolf headbutted him, sending him sprawling. 

The Gunslinger lay on his back for a long moment, panting and trying to hold back the vomit rising in his throat. He heard the wolf howl, already anticipating its victory. 

_If it really is a demon, I’ll at least take it to hell with me._

The Gunslinger forced himself into a sitting position, despite his entire body protesting, drawing a long knife and pointing it at the wolf. The wolf snarled, crouching down and racing towards him.

The Gunslinger bowed his head, hoping it would be quick, maybe the kid would be able to run-

There was a loud, surprised yip, and the Gunslinger looked up.

The wolf was floating in the air, legs flailing uselessly, giving the Gunslinger a look that said _‘I’m just as surprised as you are.’ ___

__The Gunslinger blinked, and saw the kid out of the grass, eyes closed and hand outstretched, his expression one of deep concentration._ _

__The Gunslinger was absolutely speechless._ _

__The kid’s arm dropped, and the wolf collapsed, unable to land on its feet. It scrambled up, but it was too late. The Gunslinger rammed the knife into the wolf as hard as he could, and the wolf collapsed, gave a soft whine, and went still._ _

__The Gunslinger stood over the body of the dead animal, panting, and then looked to the kid, who had collapsed as well, unconscious from whatever they had done._ _

__The Gunslinger didn’t know what to think._ _

__*** *** ***_ _

__The Gunslinger didn’t know how he managed to get back to the bandits carrying both the kid the body of the wolf while having had the shit kicked out of him, but he managed._ _

__He heard an excited shout, and dropped the wolf to the ground, watching with no interest as the bandits marveled over the size of the animal. The Cherokee man came after them, going to the Gunslinger._ _

__“I’m surprised you waited.” Said the Gunslinger. The Cherokee man shrugged._ _

__“I’m surprised you took so long.” He responded, his eyes drifting to the Gunslinger’s injured arm._ _

__“I’ve had worse.” The Gunslinger said dismissively._ _

___It WOULD have been worse if the kid didn’t do...whatever he did._ _ _

__The Cherokee man nodded at the kid. “Is he alright?”_ _

__“I’ll explain when we get back.” He glared at the bandits. “If I hear one more word of German, I’ll shoot somebody.”_ _

__*** *** ***  
“Is he still sleeping?” The Cherokee man asked, peering over the fire to try and catch a glimpse of the kid, who was given the luxury of the Gunslinger’s few blankets. Such was the reward when you defeated a massive wolf single-handedly._ _

__“Yes.” The Gunslinger asked, suddenly finding himself wanting to tuck them in. He shook it off. That was ridiculous._ _

__“Was he injured?” The Cherokee man asked. His face looked ghostly across the fire, and the constant snorts by the gray mustang, still on edge from his recent horse-napping, wasn’t helping relax the mood._ _

__“I don’t think so. Not physically.” The Gunslinger said._ _

__“Explain it to me again.” The Cherokee man said. “I still don’t understand what happened.”_ _

__“Neither do I.” The Gunslinger said softly._ _

__*** *** ***  
“I can’t thank you enough.” The Gunslinger said, seated on the gray mustang. The kid sat in front, still asleep, leaning back against the Gunslinger. “Please allow me to give you a portion of my reward.”_ _

__“I cannot accept.” The Cherokee man said. “You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service.”_ _

__“At least allow me to leave the mustang with you. You captured it.” The Gunslinger offered._ _

__The Cherokee man smiled. “I am honored, but I already have a mount that is my companion. You will need your’s in the coming days.”_ _

__“Then all I can offer is my thanks.” The Gunslinger said._ _

__The Cherokee man nodded. “And I offer mine. Thank you for bringing peace to my home.” He stepped back, leaving to continue his day. “And good luck with the child!” He called. “May he survive and bring you a handsome reward!” He nodded. “I have spoken.”_ _

___Right…_ _ _

__The Gunslinger watched him for a moment, and then gently nudged the gray mustang’s side, and the animal broke into a brisk canter._ _

___I suppose I should name it,_ the Gunslinger thought, bemused. _ _

__The sun was peeking over the crest of the hills, and the mustang chomped on the bit, the razor-like edges of said bit completely irrelevant to him._ _

___Hm…_ _ _

__Not long after they set off, the kid rustled, and woke up. For a moment he looked confused, and then turned to see the Gunslinger. He looked relieved, and pleased with themselves, and then faced forward to look at all the new scenery._ _

__The Gunslinger could not swallow his guilt._ _


	3. The Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i ZOOMED to get this chapter done. enjoy
> 
> also i think you should know that this chapter is titled yeehaw: Tokyo drift in my google docs. the second chapter was yeehaw: electric boogaloo, and the first chapter was yeehaw
> 
> oh no. did my hatred of the confederacy show through in this chapter. oh no. oh noooooooooooooo

The kid became bored quickly, as expected.

It was a long way back to Nevarro, and the heat seemed to be making the kid grumpy. Hell, it was making everyone grumpy. The Razor Crest kept starting when the Gunslinger wasn’t expecting so he could nearly throw them both. The Gunslinger himself was sweating, seconds away from turning the damn horse around and sending it to a meat factory.

He felt the light weight of his hat disappear, and he glanced down, seeing the kid wearing it. It was far too large on him, and covered his eyes and most of his nose. The Gunslinger immediately took it back. “That’s not a toy.” He scolded.

The kid seemed disappointed, but stop wriggling, mood improving as he investigated their surroundings. The Gunslinger watched him closely, and then went back to wondering about shoes, and if he could get some for the kid.

_Stop it. Focus. You have a job to do._

_Yeah, delivering a child to those angry, disgraced soldiers. Quite noble. What if that had been you?_

The Gunslinger shook the thoughts away, but it was difficult. He glanced at the kid again, eyes falling on their turquoise necklace. Where had he gotten it? Was it all that was left of their home life, if he ever had one? Was that why the officer knew the kid wouldn’t get rid of it, because it was too precious? Because it was all he had left?

Was that why the kid didn’t speak? What had he seen?

The Gunslinger desperately tried to get his mind on something else, but it was impossible. 

*** *** ***

Walking into Nevarro held untold suspense.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and every quick movement made him jerked his head towards the source. His hand was on his pistol, ready at any given moment to fight. 

The kid picked up on the anxiety, and when they finally arrived at the Confederate hideout, the kid was clearly scared, pressing close to the Gunslinger, flinching when he knocked on the door. 

A soldier opened it, and his eyes widened when he saw the kid. He opened the door wider, allowing the Gunslinger to come in.

He stepped in, and almost immediately, one of the Confederate soldiers grabbed the kid’s arm. “Take it easy with him.” The Gunslinger said, feeling guilt pool in his stomach like poison.

“You take it easy.” The Confederate sneered. The Gunslinger had the sudden urge to stab him.

All the same, he allowed the soldiers to lead him into the rundown building, to where the officer was seated. The officer stood up, looking excited. “Yes…” He said, walking up to the kid, staring at him like he were a fascinating animal. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

The officer seemed to compose himself, standing up straight to look at the Gunslinger. “Your reputation was not unwarranted.” He said. 

The Gunslinger was unswayed by the empty praise. “How many people did you send?” He asked lowly, thinking of Green. 

“This asset was of extreme importance to me.” The officer said, unconcerned. “I had to ensure its delivery.”

He walked over to the table, reaching down. “But to the winner…” He pulled up a large, bulging canvas bag with difficulty. “...go the spoils.” 

He flipped open the top of the bag, revealing sparkling bars of gold. Unable to conceal his awe, the Gunslinger went to the bag, staring at the gold. 

Every single bar was labeled with a CSA.

“Such a large bounty for such a small package.” The officer mused, almost to himself. There was a small cry of surprise, and the Gunslinger turned, seeing one of the soldiers dragging the kid away. The kid struggled, trying to catch the Gunslinger’s eye, but he looked down, guilt spreading throughout him once again.

The Gunslinger stared at the CSA for a long moment, wishing that it wasn’t there. “What are your plans for him?” He asked.

The officer’s demeanor shifted to one of danger. “How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation.” He hissed. “You have taken both commision and payment.”

Several Confederate soldiers emerged, as if anticipating something. The Gunslinger tensed. 

“Put these events behind you. You would not want to cross us.” The officer said.

The Gunslinger was still, for a moment, just a moment, consider spitting in this officer’s stupid face, throwing the gold at him, and then breaking the kid out.

Instead, he took the bag with his good arm, hefted over his shoulders, and left.

*** *** ***

He went straight to the _vaquero_ hideout, ignoring the looks he got from his fellow _vaqueros_ when they saw his bag. It was too similar to the stares he got on the streets of Nevarro.

He found the _cabecilla_ in the armory. 

He set the bag down without a word. 

The _cabecilla_ regarded him with curiosity, and slowly opened the bag, taking out one of the gold bars, and turning it over in her hand with interest. The Gunslinger heard other footsteps behind him, and guessed the others were coming to check out what the massive bag was all about. 

“Quite a reward.” She said, the observation of the century.

Another _vaquero_ picked up a bar, examining. He scoffed. “This is Confederate gold.” He turned to the others. “It’s a reward from the slave-holders. They would kill us all given half a chance.” He tossed the bar, disgusted.

“Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength.” The _cabecilla_ said calmly. 

“Our strength was once in numbers.” The _vaquero_ said. “Now we live in the shadows and only come out one at a time. We would be scattered in an instant by those pale rats, with whom this coward shares tables.” He glared at the Gunslinger.

“The Confederacy is no longer.” The _cabecilla_ said in a stern voice. “An empire built solely to continue the suffering of others will not stand for long. And the gold had been returned.”

She looked at the others gathered. “Once one chooses to walk the Way of the _Vaquero_ , you are both hunter and prey. How can one be a coward if one chooses this way of life?” She paused. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” The group repeated.

The _cabecilla_ looked at the Gunslinger’s bandaged arm. “How did this injury occur?” She asked.

“A wolf.” The Gunslinger said.

“Then you have earned the wolf as your signet.” The _cabecilla_ said. “I shall craft it.”

“I can’t accept. It wasn’t a noble kill.” The Gunslinger said. “I was...helped. By an enemy.”

The _cabecilla_ looked to him, confused. “Why would an enemy help you in battle?” 

The Gunslinger paused, guilt returning tenfold. “It...did not know it was my enemy.”

She paused. “As you forgo a signet, the excess shall go back to you.”

“Reserve some for the foundlings.” The Gunslinger said.

The _cabecilla_ nodded. “As always should be. Foundlings are the future. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” The group echoed. 

“This is the Way.” The Gunslinger said, feeling as though he had fallen a million miles from the Way.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger was used to stares, but not the angry glares he got when he entered the saloon were Karga was.

Karga grinned when he saw him. “Ah! Hello!” He gestured for him to take a seat. He leaned forward, stage whispering. “They all hate you. Because you’re a legend!” 

“How many of them were after the bounty?” The Gunslinger asked in a flat voice.

Karga frowned. “All of them.” He confessed. “All of them! But not one of them closed the deal.”

Someone scoffed.

“And with it,” Karga continued. “The richest reward this territory has ever seen. Please, sit my friend.” 

The Gunslinger slowly sat down, feeling uneasy, but for once it wasn’t because he was in danger.

“They’re all weighing the gold in their minds, but not me.” Karga said. “No. I, for one, I celebrate your success! Because it is my success as well. Hell, even I’m rich!” He patted a lump in his coat pocket. A gold bar. “Now, how can I show my most valuable partner gratitude?”

“I want my next job.” The Gunslinger said. 

“Your next job? Enjoy yourself!” Karga said.

“I want my next job.” The Gunslinger repeated. 

“Sure, fine.” Karga sighed. “You hunters like to keep busy, right? Well, these are all far away-”

“The further, the better.” The Gunslinger said.

“Take your pick. You earned it.” Karga said.

The Gunslinger grabbed the first one, not really looking, and paused. “...any idea what they’re gonna do with him?”

Karga paused. “What?”

“...the kid.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“They’re Confederates. What are they doing here?”

“The Confederacy is gone. All that’s left is fanatics and mercenaries. But if it bothers you, just go East and report them to the Union.”

The Gunslinger scoffed. “That’s a joke.”

Karga sighed. “Enjoy your rewards.” He perked up. “Buy some opium. Pretty soon, you’ll forget all about it.”

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger kept repeating the details in his new bounty, trying to block out the face of the terrified kid with that of the deserter. It didn’t work. 

The Razor Crest snorted and bounced as he swung up into the saddle, as if angry with outcome. The Gunslinger stuffed the warrant into his pocket, and his hand hit something hard. Confused, he pulled it out.

The turquoise stone.

The Gunslinger stopped, as if paralyzed, turning over the little stone in his hand. Its colors were more vibrant than anything else in the dusty town, but to the Gunslinger, it was a mirror, and he hated what he saw in the mirror.

The Crest snorted again, tossing his great gray head, revved up and ready to go. Good. He could build up more energy. He was going to need to when the Gunslinger came back with an extra passenger. 

*** *** ***

The soldier never saw it coming. 

The Gunslinger had knocked on the door, and when the Confederate stuck out his head to see who was there, he was swiftly knocked unconscious with a good whack to the forehead with the butt of a rifle, and was thrown out of the doorway. 

The Gunslinger slipped in, ducking behind the corner of another hall to avoid two more soldiers, playing cards in the main room. “Sam?” One called, confused, presumably to unconscious soldier. “Sam, anyone there?” 

The other two came investigating, but were quickly dispatched as well. The Gunslinger didn’t need anyone sounding an alert. 

He walked down the halls, feeling invincible. This was different than other missions, this time he had to watch out for more than just himself. Halfway down the first hall of stables, he realized he didn’t have a plan, and knew that may have been a mistake. But it was too late to turn back now. He knew, somehow, that if he left now, he would never return.

The Gunslinger heard a shuffle from his right, and looked over, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The kid was in the corner, tied up roughly, tear stains on his cheeks, but unharmed.

“Hey, kid.” The Gunslinger whispered, and the kid’s head jerked up. The Gunslinger realized-belatedly again-that he didn’t even know if the kid would go with him. Why would he? The Gunslinger had just betrayed him, and he couldn’t blame the kid if he hated him. But the Gunslinger would get him out somehow, get him somewhere safe, and then the kid could hate him all he wanted, he deserved it-

The kid grinned at him, looking overjoyed.

The Gunslinger was taken aback, shocked into silence for a long moment. “Yeah, it’s me.” He whispered, heart doing cartwheels in his chest. “I’m busting you out.”

He hopped into the stable, quickly cutting the binds with his knife, entirely unsure what he had done to win the undeserved favor of this strange, otherworldly child. He could figure it out later. Right now he had a job to do.

He helped the kid to their feet, and rushed out, followed closely behind by the kid. “HEY! Stop right there!” A shrill voice yelled.

The Gunslinger froze, surrounded by four Confederate soldiers, each aiming their rifles at him. “Drop your weapon! Right now! Now!” One shrieked.

“Okay, okay.” The Gunslinger said, slowly setting the rifle to the ground, feeling panic rise in his chest. The kid looked nervous, but only nervous in the way one does when hearing a scary story: knowing that they were safe from the horrors.

The Gunslinger had no idea why the kid should place so must trust in him, but he was determined not to ruin it.

“The pistols!” The soldier commanded.

“Okay, calm down, let me just-” Quicker than the soldier could blink, the Gunslinger threw his knife towards the soldier, and it buried itself in the gray-clothed man’s gut. He went down instantly, and the other soldiers turned to their fallen comrade in shock. The Gunslinger pulled out the twin pistols, easily shooting the last three.

Of course, now the sound attracted attention, and the element of stealth was ruined. “New plan.” The Gunslinger told the kid, retrieving his knife and rifle. “We’re gonna run, mount up, and get out of this shitshow.” He paused. “Don’t repeat that.”

_Congratulations, you’ve probably just taught the kid their first swear._

_That’s not the biggest problem we have right now._

_Right, sorry, continue._

The kid didn’t respond, and the Gunslinger could only hope he would follow his directions. He sprinted out, hearing shouting from the others around him. There were gunshots, and he froze. 

“Step away from the asset.” Karga said, aiming a rifle at him. Several other bounty hunters surrounded the Gunslinger, each with their own weapon.

“Step aside. I’m leaving.” The Gunslinger said. 

Karga chuckled. “Leave the bounty and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.” The Gunslinger said.

“If you truly cared about the kid, then you’ll push it aside, and we’ll discuss terms.” Karga said.

“How do I know I can trust you?!” The Gunslinger challenged.

“Because I’m your best hope of getting out of here alive.” Karga said.

The Gunslinger stilled, thinking. That was true. He brought the most results for Karga, so of course the man would want the Gunslinger alive. He could walk away, pretend this never happened. And honestly, being not dead was very tempting. He glanced over, trying to find a place to stash the kid, and happened to glance down at him.

The kid pressed against him, looking up at him with complete faith.

Within less than a second, the Gunslinger raised his rifle and took out one of the bounty hunters, before diving behind a water trough, dragging the kid with him.

The world exploded into flashes and noise, and the kid covered their ears. The Gunslinger managed to shoot two more before realizing he had no plan, and now he was going to die, the kid was going to die in a gunfight because of him-

A loud whinny broke his train of thought. 

The _vaqueros_ rode in, like warrior angels, and to the Gunslinger, they were a godsend. They attacked in perfect precision, every single shot hitting the mark, not a single bullet wasted. Their horses could stop and turn on a dime, which was handy for knocking down enemies. Instantly, Karga’s posse scattered, in panicked disarray. 

“Get out of here!” The Gunslinger looked up, seeing the same _vaquero_ who had called him a coward less than an hour ago. “We’ll hold them off!” 

“You’re going to have to relocate.” The Gunslinger said, feeling guilty.

The _vaquero_ shrugged. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” The Gunslinger repeated. 

The _vaquero_ nodded, and kicked his horse to continue the battle.

The Gunslinger sprinted from his hiding place, dragging the kid, grateful he had tied the Razor Crest at the post right outside of the town. The mustang was restless, pawing at the ground and occasionally bucking, clearly ready to go. The Gunslinger felt the same. He pushed the kid in front of him, helping them onto the Crest.

He heard a gun click behind him.

“Hold it, _vaquero_.”

The Gunslinger froze, turning slowly to see a very, very angry Greef Karga.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” He said, sighing. “But you give me no choice.”

The Crest snorted, tossing his head, adrenaline pent up to the point of explosion.

The Gunslinger had one last, desperate idea. He could only hope the kid held on. 

He yanked the tied up reins out of their knot, and the Crest reared, knocking Karga square in the chest and sending him flying several feet back.

He didn’t get up.

The Crest screamed, and the Gunslinger grabbed the reins. “Woah, woah, stop! Stop!” He said, terrified he was going to throw the kid, who had somehow managed to hang on. 

The Crest calmed enough to allow the Gunslinger to climb on. He heard something explode in the town of Nevarro, already disappearing into the distance as the Crest galloped away.

*** *** ***

The Razor Crest ran like a tornado, unrelenting, seeming almost like a machine, never exhausting, even as the chilling night air set upon the trio like a predator, but the Crest managed to outrun it. 

At last, the Gunslinger pulled the mustang into a choppy trot, and the animal still wanted to run. The kid was still nervous, looking out into the endless darkness with apprehension. The Crest let out an irritated snort, and finally fell into a walk. The Gunslinger looked behind him. Nevarro was long gone, swallowed by the night and distance.

The kid looked up at the moon, as if asking for answers from it, and then turned to the Gunslinger, as if expecting the answer to come through him.

The Gunslinger had no answers. 

Slowly, he reached up, and removed his hat, dropping it onto the kid’s head. The hat still covered most of his face, but the Gunslinger could see them smile with delight in the dim moonlight.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough for now.


	4. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've noticed a theme with my writing. when i write crossovers, I learned to epic orchestral pieces for theme songs. script writing, 70s tunes.
> 
> this book?
> 
> synth and cyberpunk

The town of Sorgan, to outsiders, seemed detached from the rest of the world. 

For one, it was green. The color green-in its natural state-was a rarity in these parts. But as if to spite the nay-sayers, trees that seemed to touch the sky sprouted out of the ground, and lush undergrowth of brush and flowers dotted the landscape. The lake seemed perpetually blue, even when the sky was cloudy, and it was plentiful in fish. Not that fish was a staple; the forests were filled with game, and crops seemed to spring up from the soil given half the chance and an opportunity. 

In the distance, mountains watched over Sorgan, tall, proud, and capped with snow, reflected in the blue lake just like everything else, the finishing touch to what many of the residents believed to be the most beautiful place on Earth.

A fat red chicken waddles as quick as it can through the streets, pursued by several giggling children, a common game that adults wave off as harmless, but the chickens rather dislike. At this rate, they’ll be too skinny to eat. One child, a young girl with long, chocolate colored hair darts ahead and succeeds in grabbing the chicken, who clucks in protest. 

The peace is quickly shattered.

A loud popping noise comes from right outside the town, and the chicken squawks, struggling to get free. In an instant, the town goes from content to panicking in a split second. The young girl drops the chicken, and runs, looking for her mother. There’s manic whooping, a whinny, and the popping-gunshots-come closer.

The little girl manages to grab her mother, and her mother immediately pulls her behind a large water trough, covering her daughter’s mouth so she doesn’t scream in fear as the shooters round the corner, the sounds of hooves thudding against the ground deafening. 

The mother squeezes her eyes shut, praying with desperation that she and her daughter-all that she has left-are not discovered by the violent bandits, because she’s seen what happens when they find someone in their way, and even if she is trying to not interfere, she doesn’t trust her luck with them. 

One of their horses wander to the trough, sticking their snout in it.

The mother holds her breath.

After an eternity, the rider jerks the reins, and the horse pulls away. The bandits take what they can find, and leave, still shooting bullets with wild abandon.

When the townspeople emerge, rattled and defeated, there is a dead chicken in the road, shot and trampled, for no real reason at all.

*** *** ***

The novelty of the escape wore off very quickly for the kid.

By the next day, he was back to his old, fidgeting self, messing with everything, and jumping off the Razor Crest whenever he saw something interesting he wanted to investigate, heedless of the Gunslinger’s calls for him to return.

“Stop that.” The Gunslinger said, finally feeling a bit of irritation when the kid started playing with the Crest’s bridle, causing the mustang to start in surprise. The kid stopped, looking disappointed. 

The Gunslinger sighed, pulling out a map. There had to be somewhere they could stay for a bit, maybe somewhere where the kid could work off some of his ceaseless energy, and the Gunslinger could take a long, long nap. 

The Crest suddenly bolted, and with a yelp, the Gunslinger fell off. The kid had accidentally undone the bridle, the sudden lack of it causing the mustang to bolt forward, and he bucked, trying to figure out if he should bolt or stay put. 

The Gunslinger stood up quickly, rushing to the Crest and managing to put the bridle back on before the mustang decided to book it. The kid had managed to stay on, looking sheepish and guilty. 

“Alright, you little swamp rat,” The Gunslinger said, somehow amused in spite of his sore back. “I get the message. You’re just about done traveling for now.” He glanced at the map again. “We’re only a couple miles out from this place called Sorgan. Seems nice enough. They live near the lake. Been awhile since I’ve seen one. What do you say? Ready to lay low for a few months, stay out of trouble?”

The kid smiled, and the Gunslinger had a feeling he would have agreed if the Gunslinger had said they were pitching camp next to an active volcano. The Gunslinger smiled slightly too, climbing back onto the Razor Crest, giving it a short kick, and they were off.

“Nobody’s gonna find us here.”

*** *** ***

“I’m gonna go out and look around.” The Gunslinger said, tying the Razor Crest to a low hanging tree branch, out of sight from the town border. “It shouldn’t take too long. You-” He turned to the kid, who was staring with rapt attention. “-don’t touch anything. I’ll find us some lodging, and then come back for you.”

“You stay right here.” The Gunslinger said, pointing to the ground. “Stay. Right here. Don’t move.” He held up his hand, as if commanding a disobedient puppy. “Understand?” 

The kid sneezed.

“Great.” The Gunslinger said, deciding this was probably the best answer he was going to get. He started walking, and made it less than ten feet before turning around and seeing the kid following directly behind him, nearly bumping into him when he stopped. The kid smiled, clearly having understood the instructions. He just didn’t care to follow them.

The Gunslinger sighed deeply, feeling a migraine coming on. “Oh, what the hell? Come on.”

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger stepped into a small dinner, wandering aimlessly, not entirely sure what he was looking for. The kid followed close behind, staring at everything with naked wonder, jumping back when he wandered a little too close to a large dog and got snarled at, grabbing the Gunslinger’s arm. The Gunslinger jerked back on instinct, felt guilty, and then wondered why he felt guilty.

He spotted a table, and figured they might as well sit. He took the one in the furthest corner, and the kid sat down as well, swinging their legs amiably from the large stool. A young woman with dark hair approached them, smiling. “Welcome, travelers. Can I get you anything?” She asked.

The Gunslinger hesitated. “Soup, I suppose. For the kid.”

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. We just finished up our harvest for the season, so there’s plenty.” She motioned to the Gunslinger. “Can I interest you in any as well?” 

The woman shrugged, as if pitying the Gunslinger for missing out. “Very well.”

The woman turned to go, and the Gunslinger noticed someone else in the opposite corner, staring at them with an unreadable expression. A tall black woman, her hair cut very short, wearing a dark blue Union infantry army coat. A long cavalry sabre sat at her hip, glinting in the sunlight. 

“That one over there,” The Gunslinger asked the waitress. “When did she arrive?” 

The waitress turned, and the woman looked down, but kept stealing suspicious glances. “I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.” The waitress said. 

“What’s her business here?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Business?” The waitress asked. “Not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say-”

The Gunslinger tossed a couple Union bills on the table.

“-probably a runaway from the South, maybe took the uniform off a dead soldier.” The waitress said, looking surprised. “Thank you, sir! I’ll get that soup to you right away.” She grabbed the bills before the Gunslinger could change his mind, leaving to get started on the order.

The Gunslinger looked back to the table, but the woman was gone.

He stood up quickly, suspicious. He marched towards the exit and tossed a half-dollar coin to the waitress. “Watch the kid.” He said.

He heard her laugh, shocked with her good fortune. “Yes sir!” At least someone was getting something out of this mess.

He rushed out, not seeing the woman anywhere. He crept around the side of the diner nervously, hand on his pistol, ready to shoot. There didn’t seem to be anything here. Maybe he was overreacting…

He heard something above him.

The Gunslinger looked up, only to see the woman jump down, kicking him roughly in the chest. He fell back, stumbling, and she punched him in the face. He dodged her next punch, but she just kicked him again. She had caught him by surprise, and he was still dazed from the surprise attack. 

She drew her long sabre, and swung. The Gunslinger dodged, pulling out his pistol. She was just as quick, and suddenly they were at a standstill, pistols aimed and ready to go.

The Gunslinger heard a loud slurping noise, and hazarded a glance.

The kid was standing there, bowl of soup in hand, watching the two as if it were an interesting play. He glanced to the woman, who looked very confused by the sudden guest. 

“...want some soup?” The Gunslinger offered.

*** *** ***

They ended up getting coffee instead, the kid sitting between them like the world’s tiniest mediator. 

As it turned out, the woman-Cara Dune-had in fact been in the Union army, after having run away from a plantation and signing up for the army under the pseudonym ‘Carl Dune’. 

“It didn’t pay well.” Cara said, taking a long sip of her bitter coffee. “Didn’t really pay at all, actually. But fighting for my freedom seemed more appealing than waiting around for it.”

“And the cavalry sabre? Infantry doesn’t get those.” The Gunslinger said, nodding to it.

“It’s Confederate. Took it off a general I killed. I knew him; he wasn’t a good man.” She scowled, glancing at the hilt. “I figured I earned it.”

“How’d you end up here?” The Gunslinger said, thinking. There was a harsh gagging noise next to him, and he looked to the kid, startled, seeing them gag with a disgusted look. He felt panic for a second, and then saw he was holding a coffee cup. “Why would you drink that?! You don’t even know what it is!” He scolded, snatching the cup away.

The kid gagged again, and looked at the Gunslinger as if they felt sorry for him, drinking the bitter liquid. Cara smiled, amused. “I went back home, and things were worse, in a way. Everyone was pissed they lost, even more pissed that we were free. You’d get shot dead for smiling in public. I figured it was only a matter of time before I got into trouble for something stupid, and decided to try my luck out here.”

She paused. “My old master was a vindictive son of a bitch. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent out someone just to kill me. I knew you were a bounty hunter, and figured he had sent you; that’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, I figured.” The Gunslinger said. His ribs hurt. 

Cara smiled, glancing at the kid, who still had a sour look from the coffee. “Well, this has been a real treat,” She said, standing up. “But unless you wanna go another round, one of us is going to have to move on. And I was here first.”

The Gunslinger sighed. “Well, looks like this town is taken.” He muttered.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger was nervous when the cart approached him, with two men in it.

He had been just about to leave, the Razor Crest surprisingly mellow for once, only trying to bite the Gunslinger once. It was the kid who was the real issue. He kept running off, throwing silent tantrums, clearly not wanting to leave.

“Excuse me, sir?” One of the men called.

“Is there something I can help you with?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Uh, yeah.” The men climbed off the cart, one of them grabbing the bridle of the large draft horse pulling it. “Bandits. W-we have money.”

“So you think I’m some kind of mercenary?” The Gunslinger said in a flat tone, going back to trying to adjust the stirrups. 

“You...are a _vaquero_ , right?” One of the men asked, as if he hadn’t expected that curveball.

“...yes.” The Gunslinger said, wishing the kid hadn’t been so difficult. They could have been miles away and avoiding this conversation. 

“I’ve read about them.” One of the men said. “If half of what they say is true-”

“We have money.” The other interrupted. He clearly knew where to steer the conversation.

“How much?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Everything we have.” He said, holding out a bag. “The bandits come through, and wreck everything. They’ve nearly killed someone on several occasions, it’s only a matter of time before-”

“It’s not enough.” The Gunslinger said, glancing at the tiny pouch of money.

“A-are you sure?! You don’t even know what the job is!” One man protested.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.” The Gunslinger looked out into the forest. Where was the damn kid?!

“This is everything we have!” He argued. “We’ll give you more after the next harvest!”

The Razor Crest screamed as the two men came closer, too close for his comfort. He bucked angrily, and the two men scrambled back. 

“...come on. Let’s go.” One said, turning back to the cart. 

The other huffed. “Took us all day to get here. Now we have to ride back, no protection…”

The Gunslinger paused, seeing the kid peeking out from behind a tree, watching the exchange with interest. “...where do you live?” The Gunslinger asked.

“On a farm. Weren’t you listening?” One of the men said bitterly. 

“In the middle of nowhere?” The Gunslinger asked.

The men glanced at each other. “Yes?”

“You have lodging?” The Gunslinger asked. The men looked at each other, excited.

“Y-yeah. Absolutely!” The man said.

“Good.” The Gunslinger held out his hand. “Give me the money.”

*** *** ***

Cara Dune woke up to a jingle of coins, and the sabre was up in an instant, pointed at the Gunslinger’s face.

“Ready for round two?”

*** *** ***

“So we’re just running off a bunch of bandits for lunch money.” Cara said, seated in the cart. The Razor Crest was tied up to the back, following close. The kid was fighting a losing battle with sleep, determined not be left out of a conversation with the adults due to a little thing like biological processes. 

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere.” The Gunslinger said. “Last I checked that’s a pretty fair deal for someone in your position. Worst case scenario, you do some target practice. Best case, we’re a deterrent. I can’t imagine there’s anything living here that a Union infantry fighter couldn’t handle.”

Cara allowed herself a small, smug smile. The Gunslinger leaned back, watching the moon and stars. The kid copied, and then immediately passed out.

*** *** ***

The children in the farming community were the first to greet them. Or more accurately, greet the kid, who seemed very pleased to be the center of attention, and to have playmates his own size. 

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us.” The Gunslinger said, amused. 

Cara chuckled. “Looks like.” 

The town was very small, sitting at the edge of a lake, mountains in the distance. The Gunslinger hopped out of the cart, untying the Razor Crest, who at this point was so exhausted he didn’t even fight the Gunslinger. He did, however, pin his ears back at the kids when they tried to pet him.

“Sorry, he’s…” The Gunslinger paused, trying to figure out a word to describe the mustang. You couldn’t say ‘asshole’ in front of kids, even though it described the Crest perfectly.

“...shy?” One kid offered. The Crest pawed the ground, message clear: _I will run any of you down for a single blade of grass._

“Sure.” The Gunslinger agreed, feeling guilty for both the Crest’s ‘shy’ behavior and for running the mustang to exhaustion like this.

The Gunslinger went to the hut the villagers pointed out to him, and was mildly surprised to find a woman already in there, her long, wavy black hair loose in her face. She glanced up. “Please come in.” She said, looking a bit embarrassed to be found in there, like she wasn’t expecting him so soon. 

The Gunslinger came in, followed by the kid. “Sorry this is all we have.” The woman said.

“This will be fine.” The Gunslinger said, setting his rifle down.

“I stacked some blankets over there.” She said.

“Thank you. That’s...very kind.” He said.

There was a soft rustle behind him, and the Gunslinger whirled around, pistol drawn, just in time to see someone small gasp in fear and duck away. The woman looked surprised, then went and coaxed out the person who had startled the Gunslinger; a young girl.

“This is my daughter, Winta.” She said apologetically. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

She looked down at Winta, smiling at her. “This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.” She said. 

“...thank you.” Winta said shyly.

The Gunslinger nodded, feeling guilty once again.

“Let’s give our guest some room. You can put your horse out in the pasture by the chicken coop, if you want. I can get it.” The woman said.

“It...might be better if I do.” The Gunslinger said.

“He’s shy.” Winta explained.

The woman nodded, and left, hand and hand with her daughter. For some reason, it made the Gunslinger’s heart ache.

*** *** ***

Much later, the woman-Omera-returned. “Knock knock.” She said aloud, probably not wanting to get shot.

“Come in.” The Gunslinger said. The kid looked up, smiling in recognition when they saw Omera, who was carrying a tray of food. Winta followed close, carrying her own tray. She looked unsure, glancing at the kid and then her mother. Omera nodded in encouragement.

“I...brought him some food.” Winta said, silently asking permission to interact with the kid.

The Gunslinger nodded, and Winta rushed over to the kid, setting down a small plate with bread, cheese, and an apple. She seemed eager to make friends with the kid, and the kid seemed surprised to be interacting with someone that wasn’t the Gunslinger.

“Can I play with him?” Winta asked suddenly. The kid looked up at the Gunslinger, sensing a new milestone. 

The Gunslinger paused, anxiety welling up. “...sure.” He forced himself to say after a moment. 

Winta and the kid grinned, and Winta grabbed the kid’s wrist, pulling him to his feet, food forgotten. “Come on!” She raced out with the kid, and the Gunslinger had second thoughts.

“I don’t think-” He started, but Omera cut him off.

“They’ll be fine.” She assured him, and the Gunslinger forced himself to chase worst case scenarios from his mind. “I brought you food.” 

“That’s...very kind of you. Thank you.” The Gunslinger said, forcing himself to look away from the kid, who had effortlessly been accepted into the inner circle of children, joining in their games with corn husk dolls.

“...do you mind if I ask you something?” Omera asked.

“Go ahead.” The Gunslinger said.

“How...long have you been a _vaquero?_ ” She asked.

The Gunslinger paused, thinking. “I...wasn’t much older than they are.” He motioned to the children, who had abandoned the dolls and were now playing some sort of ball game.

Omera looked shocked. “You...were only a kid?”

“I was happy when they accepted me. My parents were killed, and the _vaqueros_ took me in.” The Gunslinger said, confused as to why he was telling her this, even as he was saying it. Omera was kind, and easy to talk to, and for whatever reason, the Gunslinger trusted her.

“...I’m sorry.” Omera said.

“This is the Way.” The Gunslinger said, unsure why he wanted to talk with her so badly but couldn’t really seem to get his throat to work.

Omera nodded slowly. “Let us know if there’s anything you need.” She said, turning to go.

“Thank you.” The Gunslinger managed to say, watching her leave, and suddenly wishing she hadn’t.

*** *** ***

Cara and the Gunslinger walked through the forest, going to find the camp where the bandits had set up shop. The sun had gone down, and the Gunslinger could hear an owl hooting loudly in the trees. It was weird not to have the kid trailing behind him, but they were safer in the village. Omera would take care of them.

He looked around, glancing down, and saw the dirt had been torn up by several pairs of hooves. He pointed. “About fifteen or twenty of them came here on horseback.” He said.

Cara looked around, and froze, seeing two tracks in the mud that looked like wheel lines. “A Howitzer cannon.” She mumbled.

The Gunslinger blinked. The bandits had heavy artillery. That wasn’t good. “What’s it doing here?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Cara said, glaring off into the direction of the tracks. “But it’s more than I signed up for.”

*** *** ***

“Bad news.” The Gunslinger said the next morning, everyone gathered before him and Cara. The kid and Winta were basically best friends now, the kid having even slept over at her house the night before.

“You can’t live here anymore.” The Gunslinger announced. 

Immediately, the village broke out into shouts of confusion and protest. Cara chuckled. “Nice bedside manner.” She said, amused. 

“You think you can do better?” The Gunslinger asked.

She laughed. “Can’t do much worse.” She stepped forward. “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.” 

“You took the job!” Someone protested, and there was more shouting. 

“That was before we knew about the Howitzer!” Cara said. 

“What’s that?” The same person asked.

“The enormous cannon with exploding cannonballs that you neglected to tell us about.” Cara said, irritation slipping into her voice. 

There was more shouting, this time bordering on desperation and pleas. Somehow, Omera’s voice rose above the cacophony. “We have nowhere to go.” She said. 

“Sure you do!” Cara said, not seeming to realize she was losing favor. “There’s lots of land around here.” 

“My grandfather seeded these fields. It took generations!” Someone said. 

Cara frowned. “I understand. I do. But there’s only two of us.” 

“No, there’s not.” A man said, sounding excited. “There’s at least twenty here!” 

“I mean fighters!” Cara shouted, exasperated. “Be realistic!” 

“We can learn!” They protested, starting to warm up to the idea of fighting bandits. 

Cara glared. “I’ve seen those things take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” She glanced at the Gunslinger, desperate for backup.

Omera looked Cara dead in the eye. “We are not leaving.” She said.

“You cannot fight that thing!” Cara snapped, near losing her temper.

“Unless we show them how.” The Gunslinger said. The village broke out into cheers, and Cara glared at him, not pleased with his lack of backup. 

But it was too late now.

*** *** ***

“You got two problems here.” The Gunslinger said, pacing back and forth down the line of people who had volunteered to fight. “You got the bandits, and you got the Howitzer. We can handle the Howitzer,” He said, nodding at Cara. “But you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are.” 

“Cara Dune here was a veteran.” He said, nodding at the woman in the Union coat. “She was an infantry soldier in the Union, and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you, so listen carefully.”

A few people regarded Cara with suspicion or even disgust, but most of the villagers just seemed happy that she was there to help. Cara ignored them. “There’s nothing on this planet that can damage that thing, so we’re gonna build a trap.” She said. “We’re gonna dig a mud pit, right here, so when it steps in, it drops, and can’t get out.” She glanced at the Gunslinger. “The two of us will hit their camp. Provoke them. That’ll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us.”

“I’m gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges.” The Gunslinger said, pointing to the edges of the farthest pasture. “I need it high enough so they can’t get over, and strong enough so they can’t break through.” 

“Okay.” The Gunslinger said. “Who knows how to shoot?”

The villagers were still. But then, Omera slowly raised her hand. 

*** *** ***

The day had been filled and stressful, with some people practicing stabbing with sharpened sticks, some building the pits and the walls, and most practicing shooting. Omera was by far the best shot, hitting the makeshift targets every single time with such accuracy she was starting to feel almost embarrassed about it.

“The sun is setting. We’ll be leaving soon.” The Gunslinger said, managing to see Omera just before him and Cara set out. “When we return, they’ll be coming in hot.” 

Omera nodded, an air of absolute confidence about her. “We’ll be ready.” She said.

The Gunslinger smiled beneath the bandana, and wanted to say something more, maybe thank her for her help and kindness, maybe compliment her shooting skills, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to work. 

He saw Cara walk up next to him, and nod. It was time.

*** *** ***

Wandering through the forest, the Gunslinger wondered what it would be like to die via shrapnel. 

The bandits had made little effort to conceal their camp, probably not expecting anyone stupid enough to try and attack them. That made it easy for the Gunslinger and Cara to take out their guards, but it made the Gunslinger realize they were going to really struggle with the Howitzer.

_It’ll be fine. The trap will work, and then we’ll either drive the bandits away, or pick them off one by one._

They managed to take out about five more-and accidentally set free a large horse, who repaid the favor by trampling a bandit-before there was shouting, and the bandits were officially on alert and ready to attack their infiltrators. 

“Hope the plan worked.” Cara said, pausing before she began to sprint away with the Gunslinger. 

Out of the shadows, like a demon emerging, a silvery object began to roll out, one wheel slightly cracked, making an eerie _klunk_ every time it made a full rotation.

The Howitzer.

That was when the Gunslinger and Cara began to run back to the village. 

The bandits had gotten the transport of the cannon down to an art by this point, immediately hitching up two horses to pull the cannon, and the rest galloping after the Gunslinger and Cara, shooting randomly. The darkness gave the two a cover, but the Gunslinger didn’t want to depend on blind luck. 

*** *** ***

The village children huddled together in the farthest hut, away from the action. Every time they heard a gunshot, they winced. 

Winta nudged the kid, who was staring stoically. “It’s okay.” She whispered, trying to convince herself at the same time. “Your dad’ll beat them up.” She told the kid.

*** *** ***

“This is it!” Cara shouted, sliding into her makeshift foxhole. “Once that thing rolls into the mud, it’s going down!” 

There was an awful stillness, punctuated only by a strained whinnies from the carthorses, struggling to pull the Howitzer.

“Weapons ready!” Cara yelled, and everyone with a gun raised it, trained to the dark treeline. 

Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the four carthorses appeared, dragging the Howitzer towards the mud pit, closer and closer with each struggling stomp.

“Just a few more steps.” The Gunslinger said.

As if able to hear the Gunslinger, the bandits shouted, pulling the carthorses to a halt, looking at the mud pit with curiosity. 

“It stopped.” Cara said, voice betraying her shock. 

For a million years, the world was dead silent. 

Then there was a gentle spark, right from the Howitzer-

“GET DOWN!” Cara screamed, recognizing what was about to happen before anyone else could. There was an awful, earth-shaking explosion, and one of the huts exploded into flames and shrapnel. “HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!” Cara commanded.

There was whooping, and dozens of bandits rode in, shooting with reckless abandon at the walls. “Open fire!” Cara shouted, and the villagers began shooting as well, bullets flying everywhere. 

Three bandits fell off their horses immediately; the work of Omera. The rest of the villagers were touch and go with their shots, and the bandits were only get closer. Once the horses reached the wall, most skidded to an ungraceful stop, and their rider was dumped, or sometimes impaled on the wall. But one athletic horse managed to clear the wall; the rider fell upon landing, but it was a chilling revelation that the walls were not foolproof. Meanwhile, the Howitzer managed to cut fiery holes in the village. No villagers had been killed in the fighting yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“We gotta get them to roll the cannon forward!” The Gunslinger shouted. 

“I’m thinking!” Cara said.

There was a particularly loud explosion, and the Gunslinger wondered if the kid was scared. 

“New plan.” Cara gasped, drawing her sabre. She stood up. 

The Gunslinger nodded. “I’ll cover you.” 

Cara sprinted out into the melee, cutting down any bandits that the Gunslinger missed with her sabre, fighting her way to the Howitzer. The horses were straining to sprint, each pulling in different directions in an attempt to get away from the fighting. But the bandits had locked the Howitzer into the ground, and until someone pulled it up, it wasn’t going anywhere.

Cara ran to the cannon, diving for cover when the bandits manning it shot at her. They shouted, running to attack her head on, not seeing much threat in the sabre. Cara cut them down easily.

“This is it!” Omera shouted. “It’s now or never!”

Sensing the same climax she did, the villagers poured from their stations, running to meet the bandits head on. 

Cara managed to make it to the cannon, trying to pull it up. The carthorses seemed just as eager to leave straining to pull the cannon. “Come on, you got this…” The Gunslinger mumbled. The villagers were all well and good, but as long as they had the Howitzer-and the bandits were converging on Cara-they could blow up the village in a day.

Cara gave a shout of exertion, and yanked up the Howitzer.

The effect was immediate. The horses sprinted forward, yanking the cannon straight into the mud pit. The Howitzer sank deep into the pit, the cannonballs rolling around weakly inside it, useless. 

The bandits all seemed to start screaming at once. They had lost the Howitzer, and the villagers didn’t seem keen on letting them leave. “RETREAT!” One yelled, and the few left standing seemed to take a hint, running away, most of them horseless by now. 

The village broke into cheers, and Cara emerged from the pit, covered in mud, panting. “Was that the plan?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Something like that.” Cara said, bursting into near hysterical laughter.

*** *** ***

A toad sat on a rock, having a fine morning. The sun was out, and the temperature was warm-but not too warm-and there was a gentle breeze. Perhaps the toad might find a fat earthworm today. It seemed like the kind of day that would be kind to a toad.

A pair of hands closed around the toad, and it croaked in surprise, kicking. The kid presented the toad proudly to his new friends, who shouted in excited disgust at the toad. The kid smiled, pleased to have his toad catching skills recognized. 

The toad croaked, and managed to wriggle out of the kid’s hands. It would be caught, but not insulted by children! It hopped away to the safety of the grass.

“Thanks.” Cara said, taking the drink offered by Omera. She seemed relaxed, having found a comfortable seat, kicking her feet up on a crate. 

“Can I get you something in the house?” Omera asked.

“Uh, thank you.” The Gunslinger said. “Maybe later.”

Omera looked out to the group of kids and smiled. “He's very happy here.” She said, looking at the kid, who was indeed smiling, playing with the corn husk dolls with Winta and her group again. The dolls seemed to be his favorite.

“He is.” The Gunslinger said, watching as Winta threw her arms around the kid, saying something with clear pride. It looked like she said ‘best friend’.

“Fits right in.” Omera said before leaving. 

Cara grinned, like she knew a secret. “Someone has a crush.” She said in a sing-song voice.

“You know,” The Gunslinger said, ignoring the tease, even though his face grew hot. “We raised a lot of hell here. Too much action for a backwater place like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna move on.” 

Cara nodded thoughtfully. She motioned to the kid. “Would not be the one who’s gonna tell him.”

The Gunslinger’s heart twisted. “I’m leaving him here.” He said, cementing it by saying it out loud.

Cara blinked, looking shocked. 

“Traveling with me...that’s no life for a kid.” He said. “I did my job, they’re safe. A better chance at life.”

“...that’s gonna break his little heart.” Cara said softly.

“...he’ll get over it.” The Gunslinger said, trying to convince himself. “We all do.”

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger felt nervous about approaching Omera. He told himself it was because he was worried she would reject the kid, but Cara’s off-handed tease was stuck in his mind. “Excuse me, can I have a word?” He asked, feeling bad for interrupting her barn chores. She set the buckets down, nevertheless.

“Of course.” She said, following him near the pasture where the Razor Crest had been enjoying several weeks of laziness. Currently, the kids were clustered near him, playing a new game they made up called ‘Get as close to the Razor Crest as possible without dying’. The kid was currently the reigning champion, but Winta was catching up, bribing the horse with apples and other treats.

“It’s...very nice here.” The Gunslinger said, feeling awkward. “I think it’s clear he...the kid is happy here.”

Omera paused. “What about you?” She asked.

The Gunslinger paused, unprepared for this curveball. “Me?”

“Are you happy here?” Omera asked.

The Gunslinger was still.

“We want you to stay.” She said. “The community’s grateful. You can pack everything away in case there’s ever trouble. You and your child can have a good life.” She smiled back at the kid, who was showing off by stroking the Razor Crest’s snout. “He could be a child for a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

The Gunslinger was quiet for a very long time. “...it would.” He confessed.

Omera slowly, offered her hand.

For what seemed like forever, the Gunslinger watched her, and very nearly took it.

Then he looked at the kid, and remembered that they had never killed anyone before. 

He stepped back from Omera. “I don’t belong here.” He said, heart heavy. “But he does.”

Omera’s face fell, but she nodded. “I understand.” She said. “I will after him as if he is one of my own.”

A gunshot shattered the peace. The Gunslinger turned, instinct kicking in, and he started sprinting to the source of the shot. “Go get the kids!” He shouted to Omera, and she nodded. 

He found Cara with her pistol still smoking, standing over a dead body.

The Gunslinger paused, and turned the body over. The dead man had a drawing of the kid with them. A warrant.

“They know the kid’s here.” Cara said.

“Yes.” The Gunslinger said, relief and dread filling him up at the same time. 

“And they’ll keep coming.” Cara said.

“Yes.” The Gunslinger said.

He tore the drawing to shreds.

*** *** ***

The village was very helpful, gifting the Gunslinger with all sorts of supplies, and one of them even managed to tack up the Razor Crest. (But not without several bites)

The kids seemed most upset of all, looking as though he was attending a funeral as opposed to a goodbye party. The kid stared at the ground. It almost worried the Gunslinger how the kid seemed to have no reaction at all when he told him they had to leave. 

“Are you sure you don’t want an escort?” Cara asked.

“I appreciate the offer, but we’re heading straight into the wilderness. No stopping points.” He said.

“Well, then,” Cara said, offering her hand. “Until our paths cross.”

The Gunslinger took her hand, shaking it. “Until our paths cross.”

Winta rushed forward, hugging the kid tightly. She was crying. “I’m gonna miss you so much.” She sobbed. The kid hugged her back, looking just as upset. “Here.” Winta said, holding out one of the corn husk dolls. “You can keep this one. Take him on adventures and tell me about them when you get back, okay?” 

The kid took the doll, and looked seconds from bursting into tears themselves.

Omera looked sadly at the two, before bringing herself to look at the Gunslinger. “Thank you.” She said. The Gunslinger nodded.

He climbed aboard the Razor Crest, helped the kid up, and nudged the mustang into a brisk trot.

A few minutes later, the kid sniffled. The Gunslinger glanced down, worried he was getting sick, and then saw tears pouring down the kid’s face.

The Gunslinger sighed, heart heavy. “I know, kid.” He said, putting his hand on his shoulder gently. 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, speaking of music, wanna hear a bop?
> 
> Well, my talented sister is releasing her first song today, and let me tell you: it's a doozy.
> 
> If you like music that sounds awesome (that is, if you're anyone with ears) go download 'Some Time' by Olivia Buoni, streaming on all platforms at 8 pm EST today!
> 
> I promise you won't regret it!


	5. The Bounty Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "punk" but in Captain Holt's voice

Any other horse would have collapsed from exhaustion, yet the Razor Crest was still going. But he was waning.

More gunshots echoed from behind, and the Gunslinger hazarded a look back, seeing that the bounty hunter was gaining speed, shooting with reckless abandon at the Gunslinger, the Crest, and the kid, the kid looking back in surprise, as if he couldn’t imagine what the man had against them.

This wasn’t the first bounty hunter who had tried to take the kid; any other day the Gunslinger would have killed them within seconds, as opposed to partaking in an endless chase, but the bounty hunter had caught the Gunslinger when he was low on supplies, so he couldn’t afford to just shoot. 

“You can’t run forever, _vaquero_! Your time is up!” The bounty hunter shouted. The Gunslinger was getting sick of hearing his shrill voice, and hoped he could find an opportunity to ditch him soon.

There was another gunshot, and this time, the Razor Crest stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to stay on his feet, albeit with a very choppy, limping gait.

_Oh shit._

Outrunning was impossible now, the Gunslinger needed to take care of the hunter now. He looked back, seeing the other horse only increase it’s speed, the hunter probably wanting to knock the Gunslinger off while he was riding in order to trample him.

“Hang on, kid.” The Gunslinger warned, grabbing one of the pistols, which only had a few bullets left. He grabbed the reins and yanked back hard. 

The Razor Crest stopped immediately, dangerously close to tripping, but the other horse was going far too fast to stop. The bounty hunter panicked, yanking back on the reins, but the other horse reared in surprise at the sudden change in instruction, and the other bounty hunter fell. 

The Gunslinger shot him twice, and the man didn’t move again. 

The Gunslinger turned to the Crest, silently hoping there was no irreversible damage. The mustang’s head hung low, and he was heaving with exhaustion. Near his flank, there was a steady trickle of blood, and the mustang limped forward.

The kid immediately slid off, looking worried for the Crest. The Gunslinger paused, trying to figure out what to do. He was no expert in animals, and he couldn’t tell if there was anything that could be done to the Crest or if the injury was permanent. 

He looked around, and spotted a cluster of buildings about a mile or so away. There was a trading outpost up here, and maybe there would be a farrier or something, someone to help. He could pick up supplies while there, maybe even rest inside for a night or two.

“Well kid,” The Gunslinger said, taking off the saddle and the bags to relieve the Crest of the rest of his cargo. “Looks like we’re walking. Grab a few bags, we’re gonna have to make an emergency stop.”

*** *** ***

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, have you been using this horse for target practice or something?” The farrier, Peli Motto asked, glaring at the Gunslinger as though he had insulted her personally.

“No.” The Gunslinger said, feeling irritated with her. She was a sunburnt woman, her curly hair looking like a cactus. She scowled again in response, running over the Razor Crest’s body with her hand. The mustang didn’t even pin his ears back at her, which made the Gunslinger more worried. 

The Gunslinger hoped the kid would stay in one of the unused stables he had hidden him in. He seemed reluctant (given their past experiences with stables) but eventually complied. He still had the corn husk doll that Winta had given him; hopefully that would be enough to entertain him. 

“Can you fix him?” The Gunslinger asked. Motto pursed her lips, thinking.

“Yeah, I can.” She glared at the Gunslinger again. “You got lucky. The bullets scratched him up, but none are in him. You gotta be more careful.” 

The Gunslinger wasn’t in the mood to take horse care advice from her. “How much?” He asked.

She scoffed. “Whatever it is, I guarantee you can’t afford it.”

“I’ll get you your money.” He said.

“I’ve heard that one before.” Motto muttered.

*** *** ***

The outpost-Tatooine-was larger than it looked, but made up with that surprising size with dirt and grime. Chillingly, there were Confederate uniforms on poles, as if warding off evil. The Gunslinger could only hope it worked.

There had to be some kind of bounty hunting work here; there always was. He slipped into a small cantina, hoping to find some kind of work in this openly hostile town.

*** *** ***

Peli Motto did plan to do more for the mustang, but the horse was very bitey and kick-y, so playing solitaire with herself until the mustang stopped the attitude sounded very appealing.

She laid an ace down, and paused, hearing someone rustling in her tack room. She gritted her teeth, standing up and pulling out her pistol. She had a reputation for collecting expensive tack, and this wasn’t the first time someone had broken into her tack room to see if the rumors were true.

If there was an overly curious soul, this also wouldn’t be the first time Peli put a bullet in their leg.

She swung into the tack room, pistol raised, and froze when instead of a thief there was a small child, looking at her with interest. Peli looked around, half expecting someone to jump out and yell ‘gotcha’! 

When no one did, Peli took a step towards the child. The child looked mournful as if he had been upset by something. “Now now,” She said. “Let Peli take a good look at you.”

She didn’t have kids, but she certainly had a soft spot for them. Especially those who were very cute, as this one happened to be. 

The kid sniffled, and step towards Peli, evidently not averse to seeking comfort from a random stranger. “All right, there you go!” Peli encouraged, smiling brightly and taking his hand. “What’s your name, honey?”

The child wriggled, and started to walk out, dragging Peli by the hand with him. Must be a shy kid. “All right,” Peli said, entertained by the mood shift. “Now, would you like some food?”

The child paused, looking at her with excitement. Peli smiled, already planning on spoiling the child until his parents came back. And when they did, boy, did Peli ever have an earful for them. The irresponsibility of some people!

*** *** ***

Much to the Gunslinger’s disappointment, there was barely anyone in the cantina. He approached the bartender. “Hey,” He said. “I’m a bounty hunter. I’m looking for some work.”

The bartender shook his head. “Nothin’ here that I know of.”

The Gunslinger frowned. “Nothing at all?” 

“Think again!” Someone said. The Gunslinger turned, seeing a man sitting in the corner. He had dark curly hair, and looked to be about the same age as that addict, Isaiah Green-late teens to early twenties. “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friend.” He said, looking smug.

The Gunslinger decided to suspend judgement for now, going over to the table and sitting across from the man. “Name’s Toro, Toro Calican.” He said. He set a warrant down, complete with a picture. 

“Picked this one up before I left Nevarro.” Calican said. The warrant featured a frowning man, glaring as if he knew he was being featured on a warrant. “Fennec Shand, an assassin. Heard he’s been on the run ever since the Union won. He’s a fanatic, I’ve even heard people say he helped kill the president.”

“I know the name.” The Gunslinger said, almost amused. 

“I followed rumors here. They say he’s hiding in the mountains just outside of town.” Calican explained. He grinned easily. “Should be an easy job.”

“Well, good luck with that.” The Gunslinger said. 

Calican blinked, looking startled. “Wait wait wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” 

“Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary.” The Gunslinger said, standing up. “I’ve heard about his fighting in the Confederacy. He’s insane. Go after him, you won’t make it past sunrise.” 

The Gunslinger turned to go, but Calican jumped in front of him. “This...is my first job.” He admitted. “You can keep half the bounty, even a third of it. I just need enough to keep me afloat for a few weeks and a way to make a name for myself.” He sighed. “I can’t do it alone.”

The Gunslinger was tempted to ignore him, but...well, he felt sorry for the stupid punk. Calican really did seem desperate. And a third of the bounty on Shand would set him and the kid up nicely for a long time.

“Meet me outside the farrier’s in half an hour.” He said. Calican lit up.

“Bring two horses-” Calican nodded eagerly. “-and give me the warrant.” He held out his hand, and Calican stilled, knowing the warrant was the key to identifying Shand.

Calican was still, thinking, and then suddenly ripped up the warrant. The Gunslinger blinked, wondering if he was really that paranoid. “Don’t worry,” Calican smiled. “I got it all memorized.” He tapped his temple. 

The Gunslinger considered punching this asshat in the throat for a long moment. “Half hour.” He repeated, and left before his throat punching idea became a reality.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, partner!” The punk yelled smugly.

_Don’t make messes you don’t want to clean up. Don’t make messes you don’t want to clean up. Don’t-_

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger walked back to the farrier’s, trying to think of a plan to capture Fennec without dying, or without that stupid punk dying. He peeked into the stable where the kid was. “Doing okay-” He froze.

The kid was gone.

The corn husk doll was gone as well, which meant at least he hadn’t been suddenly taken, but if the kid had wandered off, he could have been easily snatched.

The Gunslinger felt panic building up, and nearly sprinted out to the main yard, seeing the Razor Crest chowing down on hay, and Motto-

“Where is he?!” The Gunslinger shouted. There was a crash to the right of him, and he turned to see Motto scrambling to stand. 

“I’m awake!” She cried, lying.

“Where’s the kid?!” He demanded.

She made a face. “He's your kid?” 

“Where is he?! I won’t ask again!” The Gunslinger aimed his rifle threateningly. 

Motto just scoffed. “He's fine! He came out of one of my stables an hour ago, bored to death!” True to her word, the kid peeked out behind the corner, giving the Gunslinger a small, innocent smile, as if he hadn’t nearly caused a significant coronary event. 

The Gunslinger let out a sigh of relief, panic ebbing away. “Hey kid.” He said, lowering the rifle, a bit embarrassed. 

“You can’t just leave a child alone like that!” Motto scolded. “You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young on.”

But the Gunslinger saw her smile at the kid, and realized she was wrapped around the kid’s finger; and the kid was absolutely loving being the center of attention. Well, he supposed that being spoiled was a far better alternative to being kidnapped. 

“Anyway,” Motto said. “Your horse is a rude bastard. But even with that, I got it fixed up. Should be ready for lightweight riding by tomorrow.”

Light was fine. The Gunslinger could walk and carry all the heavy supplies, and the kid could ride. 

“That horse ate through three bales of hay already.” Motto said. “But I figured you were good for the money since you have an extra mouth to feed. I’m charging for babysitting too, by the way.”

The kid smiled widely, clearing having a fun time. At least someone was getting a positive experience 

The Gunslinger picked up a bag of bullets and a keg of gunpowder. “Thank you.” He told Peli.

Peli blinked, evidently not expecting gratitude after her tirade. “I guess I was right. You got some kind of job, didn’t you?”

She trailed by the kid, following the Gunslinger out from the farrier building. “You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to even keep this place in working order.” 

The Gunslinger ignored her, emerging to see Calican, two skinny mules by his side. “What do you think?” He smiled. “This ain’t too shabby, huh?”

It was in fact, very shabby. The mules themselves were in pitiful condition (mules!) and the tack was even worse. The saddle pommel was missing, and the stirrups were sewn into place. Calican sighed, seeing the Gunslinger disapproval. “What do you expect?” He asked. “This ain’t Kentucky.” He nodded at Peli. “Ma’am.”

Peli regarded him suspiciously, and the kid hid behind her shyly. 

The Gunslinger swung into the saddle with some difficulty, and with a silent wish the Razor Crest was rideable, he and Calican set off.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger signaled to a stop once they reached the edge of a desert valley, the mountains a distant form directly. “What? What’s going on?” Calican asked.

“Look up ahead.” The Gunslinger pointed. Down in the valley, there was a line of pack donkeys, with several people following the line. Calican squinted, walking a few feet away to peer with his binoculars.

“Navajo Indians.” He said. “I heard the locals talking about this filth.”

“The Navajo think they’re the locals.” The Gunslinger said, slightly bemused. “Everyone else is trespassers.”

“Whatever they call themselves,” Calican said with an air of bravado. “They best keep their distance.”

The Gunslinger almost laughed. “Yeah?” He asked, glancing to the two Navajo men who were glaring at Calican, about five feet away. “Why don’t you tell them yourselves?”

Calican turned, and shrieked loudly when he saw the two men. The men laughed loudly, and Calican scowled, turning bright red. The Gunslinger climbed down from his mule. “Relax.” 

He approached the Navajo men, who seemed to dislike Calican more than him. _“Hello.”_ The Gunslinger said, his Navajo rather unimpressive. The Navajo men seemed pleased all the same.

 _“You speak our language?”_ One asked. 

_“Only a little.”_ The Gunslinger confessed. _“We seek passage through your land.”_

“What are you doing?” Calican asked.

“Negotiating.” The Gunslinger said.

 _“Your ward is very impatient.”_ One of the Navajo men observed.

 _“He’s not my ward.”_ The Gunslinger said, not wanting to be associated with Calican. 

“Why?” Calican asked.

“We need passage across their land. Now shut up.” The Gunslinger asked. He turned back to the Navajo men. _“Apologies. We mean no harm to you. We simply want to get to the mountains, and then back.”_

The Navajo men glanced at each other, seeming unsure. _“Those.”_ One of the men nodded to the binoculars. _“They will be useful in battle and hunting. If you gift them to us, we will allow you safe passage.”_

“Give me the binoculars.” The Gunslinger said. Calican looked confused, but handed them over. 

“Hey, wait!” He shouted when the Gunslinger tossed them to the Navajo men. “Those were brand new!”

“Yeah? They were.” The Gunslinger said. The Navajo men nodded respectfully to the Gunslinger.

 _”May Mother Earth watch over you.”_ One said.

The Gunslinger nodded, and they were off once again, except this time he had to put up with the punk’s whining. 

*** *** ***

The next time they stopped was sudden. “Get down.” The Gunslinger said, climbing off the mule and hiding behind a rock. Calican followed.

Up ahead, there was a limping horse, its rider on the ground, being dragged along by a foot caught in the stirrup.

“Is that him? Is that the target?” Calican asked. 

“I don’t know.” The Gunslinger said. He drew a pistol. “I’ll go. You cover me. Stay down”

He carefully made his way down to the downed rider, nervous and jumpy. The horse balked at first, but then seemed to lose interest in running, limping forward, looking quite pathetic. The Gunslinger turned the body over so they were faceup. 

“Well?” Calican yelled. “Is it him? Is he dead?”

“No.” The Gunslinger said. “I think it’s another bounty hunter.”

“Hey, I hope you don’t plan on keeping all the stuff on him for yourself.” Calican yelled. “Can I at least have the pistol?”

The Gunslinger saw a slip of paper sticking out of their pocket. The warrant for Shand.

His blood went cold. “GET DOWN!” He yelled, barely being missed by a sniper shot that whizzed past his ear. He sprinted for cover, barely making it back to the rock in one piece. 

“What happened?!” Calican demanded.

“Sniper.” The Gunslinger said. 

“Are you alright?” Calican asked. 

The Gunslinger nodded. “Just missed me.”

“Well, what should we do?” Calican asked.

“Did you see where that shot came from?” The Gunslinger asked. Calican nodded.

“Okay. We’re gonna wait until dark.” The Gunslinger said.

“What if he escapes?” Calican worried.

“He’s got the high ground. He’ll wait for us to make the first move.” The Gunslinger slipped out, still covered by rocks. “I’ll get the mules. You take the first watch. Stay low.” 

*** *** ***

“Here’s the plan.” The Gunslinger said, climbing onto the mule. He reached into his bag, giving Calican three flares. “We’re gonna ride in as fast as we can towards those rocks. We use these flares in alternating shots, and it’ll blind the scope temporarily.” He glanced at Calican. “Combine that with our speed and we have a chance.”

“A chance?” Calican asked.

“Hey, you wanted this.” The Gunslinger said. “Get ready.”

He kicked the mule, and they were galloping across the desert. The Gunslinger held up his flare, the bright orange flames lighting up the sky. It was bright enough to make him wince. Nevertheless, a shot still missed him, and he turned to Calican. “Now!” Calican lit up his flare, but the mule suddenly jumped over a large stone, causing him to drop it. The next shot hit the Gunslinger’s mule square in the chest, and he went flying, hitting the ground hard.

The Gunslinger stood up shakily, dazed. He was almost at the rocks, and he heard Calican shout. He must have made it. He rushed to the source of the shouting, seeing Shand and Calican duking it out. And Shand was winning.

“Nice distraction.” The Gunslinger said dryly. He aimed the pistol at Shand, who sighed deeply, and put his hands up. 

Calican stood up with an audible groan of pain. “Yeah,” He wheezed. “Good work partner.” 

“Tie them up.” The Gunslinger said, and Calican quickly did so. Shand didn’t look scared, just disappointed, like they had lost a game. “Go find your pistol.” He said, and Calican limped off.

Shand smiled. He looked like a shark. “A _vaquero_. Been a long time since I’ve seen one.” He stood up, with some difficulty, due to the bound wrists. “Ever been to Nevarro? I hear things didn’t go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy.” 

The Gunslinger’s blood went cold. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting to Nevarro.” Calican said, obtuse as ever. “Or anywhere else once we turn you in. You know, I really should thank you.” He grinned. “You’re my ticket for making a name for myself.”

“You’re welcome.” Shand said, just about as fond as Calican as the Gunslinger was. 

Shand glanced out from behind the rocks, and smiled. “Uh-oh,” He said, looking at the one mule. “Looks like one of us has to walk.” 

“Or we could drag you.” The Gunslinger said. He motioned to Calican to come away from Shand to talk. 

“What’s the plan?” Calican asked. 

“I need you to go find that horse we saw.” The Gunslinger asked. “It’s limping, but it’s better than nothing.” 

“And leave you here with my bounty and my ride?” Calican scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” 

The Gunslinger sighed deeply. The longer he argued, the longer he was away from the kid. 

“Okay.” He said reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”

Calican blinked, and then looked smug, as though he had negotiated a great deal. “Watch him.” The Gunslinger said. “Don’t let him near the mule. He’s no good to us dead.”

*** *** ***

Finding the horse took longer than the Gunslinger would have liked. What he liked even less, however, was returning to find Shand dead on the ground.

He blinked, trying to figure out what caused this shift. Had Shand said something that ticked Calican off, and then Calican shot them in retribution? It didn’t seem unlikely. The punk was probably hiding now, embarrassed by his actions.

With a sigh, he grabbed the other mule, and started leading it away along with the limping horse. Maybe he could sell it to Peli for tiny bit of money if it was only a sprained ankle. 

He didn’t check Shand for money. He was a Confederate, after all. The Gunslinger was sick of dirty money.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger didn’t like how quiet the farrier’s was.

Even the Razor Crest was quiet, staring at the Gunslinger as if trying to warn. The Gunslinger drew his pistol, creeping silently to the center of the farrier’s. 

“Took you long enough!” Calican’s voice rang out, and he emerged from the shadows, pistol pressed to the back of Peli’s head, arm wrapped tightly around the kid to keep him from running. The Gunslinger felt sick. 

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh partner?” He grinned, and the Gunslinger wished he had throat punched him when he had the chance.

“Drop the pistol and raise ‘em.” Calican said, his grip on the kid tightening. The Gunslinger’s stomach did a flip, and he complied, setting the pistol down and holding his hands behind his head, but not without grabbing the last flare.

Calican poked Peli with the pistol. “Tie him up.” He commanded, and she threw him a murderous look, but obeyed, grabbing the rope lying in the corner. 

“You blew up Nevarro.” Calican said. The Gunslinger internally cursed. Shand must have told him, and Calican put the pieces together. “And I’m willing to bet this is the target you stole.” He gestured to the kid with the pistol, and it took every ounce of self control the Gunslinger had to not run over and snap that punk’s neck.

Peli paused when she was behind him, seeing the flare. “You’re smarter than you look.” She whispered.

“Fennec was right.” Calican continued. “Bringing you in won't just make me a name, it’ll make me a legend.” 

The Gunslinger was sick of this speech. He popped the cap off the flare and flung it towards Calican. Calican yelped, ducking from the bright light. Quicker than lightning, the Gunslinger drew his pistol, and shot Calican down. 

The Razor Crest screamed. The kid had disappeared.

Peli panicked, and the Gunslinger felt like joining her. “Where is he?!” She gasped, sprinting forward, ignoring the still bleeding body of Calican. 

“Stay back.” The Gunslinger warned, checking to make sure Calican was dead. He was, but this only help his anxiety marginally.

“Where is he?!” Peli repeated. 

There was a soft sneeze, and the Gunslinger and Peli turned around to see the child hiding behind a saddle rest, grinning. Peli immediately knelt down to his height, relieved. “There you are!” She said, smiling. “Are you hiding from us? Huh?”

The kid scrambled up, very happy to be the object of adoration. “Look at you!” Peli cooed. “Oh, yes, I know. That was very bright, wasn’t it? It’s okay, the bad man is gone now!”

The Gunslinger pulled several wads of Union bills off of Calican, and went to Peli and the kid. The kid pressed against him, pleased to have the status quo back to normal. “Take care of him.” Peli said, almost wistfully.

“So,” She sighed. “I take it you didn’t get paid?”

The Gunslinger held out wads of money, and her eyes widened. “That cover me?” He asked.

Peli nodded vigorously. “J-just about.”

The Gunslinger nodded, going to the Razor Crest. It was unpleasant to walk, but it would be more unpleasant to have the kid do so.

Peli Motto watched as they left, disappearing into the endless desert.


	6. The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, this one was hard to write. it didn't fit too well with the western, and this was personally my least favorite episode. (not that it was bad)
> 
> i kinda used this to hint at the gunslinger's past, but like...i hope that if you HAVE to pick out a chapter that's your least favorite, it's this one, because it's my least favorite too
> 
> also, check out the companion piece i made for this! 'The Gunslinger' is officially a series!!!!

Riding into the famed ‘Bandit Pass’ made the Gunslinger extremely nervous. 

He had been here many times, of course, but that was a long time ago. And back then he didn’t have the kid to worry about. 

The Bandit Pass was a thin passageway through the desert mountains, caves and notches cut into the rocks like a crazed god had taken a jack-knife and gone to town on it. The caves and notches served many purposes; birds would build nests overlooking the desert, animals would take shelter during the hottest parts of the day, and a few lucky plants managed to make comfortable homes on the ledges. 

Mostly, however, the caves were used for hideouts and snipers.

The Gunslinger found himself looking up constantly, nervous that at any moment, a face would pop up behind the rocks and blow his head off. The Razor Crest seemed nervous as well, balking at any movement, even if it was just dust moving slowly in the hot breeze. 

The kid was hiding right outside the pass, with very, very strict instructions that this wasn’t like last time, that these people wouldn’t be won over easily. If all went to plan, the Gunslinger would have a more comfortable form of transportation waiting for them.

“Ah, hello!” A jovial voice shouted.

The Razor Crest reared wildly at the sudden noise, and the Gunslinger was just as on edge, looking wildly for the source of the voice. A familiar face peeked over one of the ledges, smiling at the Gunslinger. He didn’t have a sniper aimed, easing the Gunslinger’s nerves. Only slightly.

“Is that really you?” He smiled, sliding down the rocks. The Crest stepped away, ears pinned at the man.

“Ran.” The Gunslinger nodded in recognition, noticing his beard had gotten far more out of control since they last met. 

Ran’s smile grew. “I didn’t really know if I’d ever see you in these parts again. It’s good to see you.” 

The Gunslinger decided he was in no immediate danger of being sniped, and slid off the Crest, shaking Ran’s hand. “You know, to be honest, I was a little surprised when I saw you coming.” He shrugged. “You know, cause...I hear things. Heard there was some trouble between you and a few clients…” 

The Gunslinger stared Ran down. “I’ll be fine.” He said. 

Ran chuckled. “Well, you know the policy. No questions.” 

The Crest snorted, trying to dart away to munch on a pathetic, dried out shrub. Ran laughed. “Let’s get you set up and see if we can’t find you a job, hm?” He asked.

Ran began to walk away, and the Gunslinger followed, deeper into the belly of the beast.

*** *** ***

“So what’s the job?” The Gunslinger asked, standing at the mouth of one of the larger caves. If he remembered correctly, this one was generally used as a makeshift armory. Not that he cared to investigate the dim shapes inside the cave. He needed to be ready to bolt.

“Yeah, one of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught.” Ran explained. “So I’m putting together a crew to spring him. It’s a six person job. I got five.” He glanced at the Gunslinger.

“All we need is a big, strong, fast ride to get our guy back. And you got it.” He motioned to the Razor Crest, who was tied up in the shade, drinking his weight in water. 

The Gunslinger felt uneasy. “The mustang isn’t part of the deal.” 

Ran’s smile turned a bit cold. “Well, it’s the only reason I didn’t shoot you when I saw you coming through.” 

The Gunslinger stiffened, and Ran’s smile widened, but only turned less inviting. “What’s that look?” He asked. “Is it gratitude?” He cackled, sounding like a crow. “I think it is. Uh-huh, I think it is.”

Ran left the cave, motioning for the Gunslinger to follow. “Hey, Mayfeld!” Ran called. A tall, bald man with a permanently displeased look emerged from a different cave. “This is the guy with the speedy ride back.” He said. He elbowed the Gunslinger. “We used to do jobs way back when.”

“This the guy?” Mayfeld asked, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah,” Ran chuckled. “We were all young, trying to make a name for ourselves. But running with a _vaquero_...” He grinned. “That brought us some reputation.”

“Oh yeah?” Mayfeld asked, glaring. “What did he get out of it?”

Ran laughed, the echo booming. “I asked him that one time. Remember what you said?” 

The Gunslinger remained silent. 

“Target practice!” Ran burst into laughter like it was the world’s best joke.

_Maybe this was a bad idea…_

“Target practice…” Ran repeated, still snickering. “We did some pretty crazy stuff, didn’t we?” 

“That was a long time ago.” The Gunslinger said, voice clipped.

Ran’s smile fell. “Well…” He huffed. “I don’t go out anymore. You understand? So Mayfeld-” He nodded to Mayfeld. “-he’s gonna run point on this job. If he says it, it’s like it’s coming from me. You good with that?” It wasn’t a question, it was a warning. _Cross this guy-or me-and you’ll regret it._

“You tell me.” The Gunslinger said evenly.

Mayfeld’s scowl deepened, but Ran laughed. “You haven’t changed one bit.” He said cheerfully.

_That’s what you think._

“Yeah, well, things have changed around here.” Mayfeld said, glaring at the Gunslinger one last time before leaving.

Ran sighed. “Yeah, well, Mayfeld, he’s...he’s one of the best triggerman I’ve ever seen. Former Confederate sharpshooter.” 

The word ‘Confederate’ sent an unpleasant chill down the Gunslinger’s back, but he shook it away. Clearly, Mayfeld had no loyalties except to himself. 

All the same…

*** *** ***

“The Razor Crest?” Mayfeld looked at the mustang sideways. “Sure, it’s big, but is it fast?” 

He reached out to touch the Crest, but yanked back when the mustang snapped at him, barely avoiding a surprise finger amputation. 

The Gunslinger fought a smile. _Good boy._

“Got me halfway across the mountains in a day. He can gallop non-stop for an hour. I’d say we’ve got a good chance.” The Gunslinger said, untying the reins, watching a large, burly man hitch a draft horse to a wagon filled with supplies-mostly weapons, actually.

Mayfeld followed his gaze, nodding at the burly man. “That’s Burg. This may surprise you, but he’s our muscle.”

At the mention of his name, Burg dropped a heavy looking box, striding up to the Gunslinger, chest puffed out like a songbird trying to make itself look bigger. He circled the Gunslinger, a look of distaste on his face. “So, this is a _vaquero_...” He said. He scoffed. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

Mayfeld pointed to a small, skinny man, leaning against the wagon, smoking a cigar. “That’s our driver, Zero.” 

“Why, hello…” An awfully familiar voice cooed. The Gunslinger internally sighed, forcing himself to turn around, facing a woman with long auburn hair tied into two braids. She was smiling, but it was forced.

“Xi’an.” The Gunslinger said reluctantly.

“Tell me,” She drawled, fingering her knife. “Why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?”

 _Because you’d miss,_ the Gunslinger thought, but didn’t say anything. Xi’an lunged at him, pressing her knife against the Gunslinger’s throat. He didn’t flinch, more so annoyed with her.

“Nice to see you too.” He said sarcastically.

Unfortunately, Xi’an didn’t seem to take it as sarcasm. Her eyes lit up, and she laughed. “I missed you.” She said wistfully.

_How funny, I didn’t._

“Do we need to leave you two alone or something?” Mayfeld asked, earning the award of being the least hated in the Gunslinger’s eyes by looking just as uncomfortable as the Gunslinger was.

“Well, Xi’an’s been a little heartbroken after he left our group.” Ran said, and the Gunslinger wanted to punch him. 

“Aw. You okay, sweetheart?” Mayfeld asked sarcastically.

“Oh, I’m all business now,” Xi’an said, not fooling anybody. “Learned from the best.” 

“All right, lovebirds,” Ran said. “Break it up until you get to the prison. Right now we don’t have much time.”

And without much fanfare, they left the ‘safety’ of the pass, and wandered into the desert.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger was fairly certain that the kid would be fine sitting in the covered wagon. He was hidden behind a large stack of extra clothes, something unlikely to be needed in the unbearable heat. The wagon was shaded, and he could snack on the extra food the Gunslinger had managed to slip him before Burg yelled at him to stop messing around in the wagon.

For a little, things seemed to be going okay. Other than the stagnant air, they hadn’t run into any physical obstacles, and no fights had broken out. The Gunslinger was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, things might go off without a hitch.

“The package is being sent East for trial tomorrow morning,” Mayfeld said, going over the plan with the group. “So we have a very limited window of time to get them out of Camp Ford.”

The Gunslinger perked up, startled. “That was taken over by the Union.” He said, pieces coming into place. “Your man wasn’t taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested.”

“So what?” Mayfeld snapped. “A job is a job.” 

“That’ll be heavily guarded, and I’m not looking for that kind of heat.” The Gunslinger protested. 

“Well, neither are we,” Mayfeld said. “So just don’t mess up.”

The Gunslinger sighed deeply, but didn’t argue.

“We get there, dead of night, and sneak in. We take out any guards who try and stop us. Once we get our guy, we’ll put that mustang to the test, and ride our guy out of here before reinforcements come.” Mayfeld finished.

The Gunslinger shook his head. “That’s not possible. Even for the Crest.” 

“That’s why he’s riding.” Mayfeld jerked his head to Zero, who seemed to jerk to attention after being noticed.

The Gunslinger felt his stomach drop.

“Ran says he knows you can ride, but he wants you on the trigger.” Mayfeld grinned, seeming to find this amusing.

“Do not fret, _vaquero_.” Zero said in a dull voice. “There has not been a mount I have not been able to handle.”

The Gunslinger wondered vaguely if he wanted to see Zero try for the fun of it.

“He’s the best.” Mayfeld assured him. 

“How can I trust him?” The Gunslinger asked.

Mayfeld just laughed, and the Gunslinger realized he was locked in now. If he ran, they would simply shoot at him until he went down. 

The Crest suddenly snorted, kicking, and there was an angry shout. The Gunslinger turned, seeing Burg glaring murderously at him, his own horse looking startled. The Crest must have been startled and lashed out. Or, the mustang was just being a bastard. Either option was likely. Either way, Burg’s hand trailed to his pistol.

Mayfeld looked startled, and pulled his horse back to ride between the two. “Woah woah woah, hey, I get it,” He said, trying to kill the tension. “I’m a little particular about my personal space too. So let’s just get in, get out, and then you don’t have to see our faces anymore.” 

“Someone tell me why we even need a _vaquero_.” Burg growled. 

“Well, apparently, they’re blessed by pagan gods or something.” Mayfeld said, giving a small smile to show how ridiculous he thought it was, and looked to the Gunslinger, as if hoping he would laugh and say ‘Right, how silly, isn’t it?’

The Gunslinger didn’t say a word. 

“Then why are they all dead?” Burg growled. 

Mayfeld laughed, as though this was a good joke. “Well, you rode with him, Xi’an,” He turned to Xi’an, who looked happy to be included in the conversation. “Any blessings? Are they as amazing as they say?”

“Ask him about the job in Alzoc.” She said primly. 

The Gunslinger felt his insides curdle, hoping the kid wasn’t listening. “I did what I had to do.” The Gunslinger said.

Xi’an laughed. “Oh, but you liked it.” 

The Gunslinger wanted to scream.

Xi’an pulled her horse up next to the Gunslinger, and the Crest pinned his ears, but didn’t kick. For once, the Gunslinger wished the Crest would act like the rat bastard he was. “See, I know who you really are.” Xi’an said. 

Mayfeld squinted. “Does he ever lose the blue bandana?”

The Gunslinger clenched his teeth. _Damn you, you stupid horse. Kick!_

“This is the Way.” Xi’an mocked.

The Gunslinger’s heart pounded. The blue meant something, sure, but the bandana was more so for his own peace of mind. You couldn’t accuse someone of something if you didn’t know what they looked like. And he definitely didn’t want these people knowing what he looked like.

“Huh,” Mayfeld said. “I wonder what you look like under there.”

The Gunslinger thought he might vomit. 

“Come on. We all gotta trust each other. Show us something.” Mayfeld cajoled.

The Gunslinger did not respond.

“I’ll do it.” He heard Burg say, and saw his hand reaching for his mouth. The Gunslinger reacted instantly, grabbing Burg’s arm and twisting it painfully. Burg shouted, and the Razor Crest _finally_ kicked, sending Burg’s horse tumbling into the wagon, nearly breaking it.

The kid poked his head out, looking startled.

_Oh God. It’s over, it’s all over._

“Whoa!” Mayfeld said, pulling his horse back so he could stare at the kid. “What is that?!” 

The kid seemed to realize his mistake, trying to duck back into the wagon, but Mayfeld was quick, reaching down to grab his arm, and then pulling him out. Mayfeld chuckled. “You get lonely out here, buddy?” He asked. The Gunslinger didn’t know if he was talking to him or the kid.

“Wait a minute,” Mayfeld said, looking disgusted. He looked back and forth between Xi’an and the Gunslinger. “Did you two make that? Huh?”

Xi’an scoffed. “It’s an Indian, stupid. Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“What is it, like a pet or something?” Mayfeld asked.

The kid wriggled, looking frightened. “Yeah,” The Gunslinger heard himself say. “Something like that.” 

“Didn’t take you for the type.” Mayfeld mused. He reached down, pulling the kid up onto the saddle. The kid wriggled, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. 

“Maybe that code of your’s has made you soft.” Xi’an said.

“Me, I was never really into pets. Didn’t have the patience, the temperment. You know?” Mayfeld grinned. “I mean, I tried, but it…” He smiled. “Never really worked out.”

The Gunslinger felt sick, and hoped he was talking about actual animals.

“But I’m thinking...maybe I’ll try again with this little fella.” Mayfeld said.

_So help me God I would shoot you right now if you didn’t have the kid as a human shield._

“Huh?” He asked, and suddenly kicked his horse so it darted forward, nearly unseating the kid again. The Gunslinger flinched, he couldn’t help it. Xi’an laughed.

“There it is.” Burg said, pointing ahead. Camp Ford loomed ominously in the setting sun, like the entrance to hell. It most likely was.

The Gunslinger turned to Mayfeld. “Put him down,” He said, trying to keep his voice calm. To his own ears, he sounded hysterical. “We don’t need him in there. He'll just slow us down.” 

Mayfeld scowled, as if challenging the Gunslinger.

The Gunslinger held his breath. 

Finally, Mayfeld stopped, allowing the kid to slip off the horse and scurry back into the wagon.

“Your time to shine, _vaquero_.” Mayfeld said, a small warning in his voice.

_Right…_

*** *** ***

Getting in was surprisingly easy. 

The massive gates to the prison were unlocked, the guards probably not having expected visitors. They slipped in easily, Zero guarding the horses and wagon. 

They slinked through the prison yard, Xi’an being her usual annoying self, giggling every few seconds as if trying to fill the silence. Even with her idiocy, they managed to make it to the central tower, trying to find some sort of guide to tell them where the target was.

That’s where they ran into a hitch.

Sitting in the tower, jumping awake when they opened the door, was a young, dark-haired boy in a Union army uniform, probably no more than seventeen.

His eyes widened, and he jumped up. He held up his pistol, shaking. “Stop!” He said, voice shaking. “Stop right there! Put your guns down!”

Mayfeld grinned, sauntering in. “Nice shoes.” He taunted. “Matches your belt.”

The boy looked even more scared. “S-stop!” He commanded.

“Hang on…” Mayfeld said, wandering to the corner, squinting at a piece of paper, worn and scribbled on. A ledger. “Cell two-two-one.” He said, smiling. He turned to the boy. “And for you, drummer boy…”

The boy suddenly pulled something out of his pocket; a flare. A big one, too. If he set it off, it could likely be seen for miles, attracting the attention of every soldier. Mayfeld’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, woah, Hey, hey, easy Yankee…” He said. “Put that down. Come on. Put it down.”

“Easy.” The Gunslinger said, in a tone he usually reserved for the kid.

“Put it down!” Mayfeld yelled, and the boy jumped, shaking worse than ever.

“Easy,” The Gunslinger spoke up again. “Nobody has to get hurt here. Just calm down.” 

“Put it down!” Mayfeld snapped again.

“Are you serious?!” Xi’an snarled. “All this to be defeated by a flare?!”

“Hey, hey hey.” The Gunslinger said, realizing the boy was dangerously close to panicking. “Listen to me, okay?” He put his pistol into his holster, and turned to Mayfeld. “Hey. Put it down.”

“Are you crazy?!” Mayfeld snapped. 

“Put it down.” The Gunslinger said firmly. He turned back to the boy. “What’s your name?”

“D-Davan.” The boy managed to say.

“Davan. We’re not here for you,” The Gunslinger said. “We’re here for a prisoner. If you let us go about our job, you can walk away with your life.” 

Davan’s eyes darted between the Gunslinger and the others, not seeming to believe him. The Gunslinger didn’t blame him. 

“No he won’t.” Mayfeld said, stepping forward.

Davan yelped, holding up the flare. The Gunslinger aimed his pistol at Mayfeld. “Do you realize what you’re going to bring down on us?” He asked.

“You think I care about that? Hell, I’d love to kill some Yankees.” Mayfeld said.

“We’re not killing anybody.” The Gunslinger said, realizing how foreign those words sounded. Maybe the kid HAD softened him. 

“Get that pistol out of my face.” Mayfeld said lowly.

“Can’t do that.” The Gunslinger replied.

“GET THAT BLASTER OUT OF MY FACE!” Mayfeld yelled.

“No!” The Gunslinger said, taking a step forward-

Davan grunted in pain, and collapsed, a knife sticking out of his chest.

The Gunslinger blinked.

Xi’an sighed. “Would you both just shut up?” She went over to the body, and retrieved her knife.

Mayfeld huffed. “I had it under control.”

Xi’an giggled. “Sure you did.” She wiped her knife on the corner of her coat. “Cell two-two-one?”

Mayfeld sighed. “Yeah.” He put his pistol away. “Let’s go.”

The others left, but the Gunslinger paused, guilt rising up in him. Davan hadn’t wanted to fight; he just wanted to make it through the day. With mounting horror, he wondered if a few weeks ago he would have killed Davan without hesitation, or even maybe while he was delivering the kid to the Confederates.

It was an unpleasant idea, but the Gunslinger didn’t have time to ponder a shifting moral code right now. He had a job to do.

“I’m sorry.” He told the empty room, unsure exactly what he was apologizing for. Davan’s death? His past? Dragging the kid into this mess of a world?

There was no response.

Forcing himself to look away from the body, the Gunslinger turned, following the others to the cell holding the prisoner. 

*** *** ***

Zero was out of whiskey.

As if expecting the flask to magically contain more, he peeked inside, sighing in disappointment when he saw there was not a single drop left. 

He had been in a drunken haze on the way here, and intended to do so on the way back. But evidently, luck wasn’t on his side.

The gray mustang-what did the _vaquero_ call it? Knife Peak? It was something like that-snorted angrily, pawing the ground. Zero grinned, raising his empty flask to it.

“To getting paid, you ugly mongrel.” He told it. The mustang kicked. Zero just smiled again. He had met horses like this one before. Nothing a riding whip and sharpened spurs couldn’t handle. 

Something rustled to his right, and Zero looked, and froze. A small child stood before him, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Zero rubbed his eyes, wondering if this was some sort of hallucination. When he opened them, the kid was gone.

He paused, and then slowly took out his pistol. Better to be safe than sorry. No witnesses

*** *** ***

They encountered two more guards on their trek to the cell, but Burg easily took them out, seeming to relish using his bare hands to pummel the guards unconscious. At least he hadn’t killed them. All the same, the Gunslinger rolled his eyes. He was getting sick of this bull of a man.

Finally, the group reached the cell, and Xi’an fumbled with the keys she had taken off Davan before slipping the correct one in the keyhole, and swinging open the door.

Even in the dim light, the Gunslinger knew who it was. They had the same auburn hair as Xi’an, the same sadistic gleam in their eyes.

“Qin.” The Gunslinger said, stomach sinking.

“Funny,” Qin drawled, standing up. “The man who left me behind is now my savior.”

_I knew this was gonna happen. Serves me right for letting it._

Burg pushed him hard, and the Gunslinger fell hard into the cell, grabbing his pistol just as the door slammed shut and clicked, locking him in. He scrambled to the door, trying to see if he could shoot one of them-at least in retribution-but the group was quick. He could hear their laughter down a separate hall.

“You deserve this!” He heard Xi’an shout.

_Maybe you’re right._

There was no time for self pity now, though. He had the kid to think about.

The Gunslinger paced, trying to think of a plan. They had left him with his weapons, probably not imagining they would be of much use for an escape unless he decided to kill himself. 

They were nearly right, except for the Gunslinger’s long knife.

Carefully, he stretched his arm out, feeling for the lock. It was within his reach, but only barely. He stuck the tip of his knife in the lock and wriggled it, desperately hoping he would be able to pick it. 

For an eternity, nothing happened. The Gunslinger’s arm burned, and his fingers were going numb. He prayed he didn’t drop the knife.

Finally, there was a soft _click_ , which sounded like music to the Gunslinger’s ears. The door swung open, and he pocketed the knife.

Time to stop these bastards.

*** *** ***

It was fairly easy to dispatch the group. Once they realized the Gunslinger had escaped-which he let them know through well placed hints and open taunts-they split up to try and find him. This only made his job easier, and he took them out one by one.

He saw Qin trying to leave the prison, pushing open the big wood gate. He raised his rifle. “Qin!” He shouted. Qin froze, slowly turning, a sick smile on his face. “Drop your pistol!” The Gunslinger shouted. Qin sighed, as if vaguely disappointed, and dropped the pistol.

He blinked, seeing that the Gunslinger was alone. “You killed the others.”

The Gunslinger was quiet for a moment. “They got what they deserved.” He said.

Qin smiled slightly, as if he knew a secret. “You kill me, you don’t get your money.” He said. 

The Gunslinger’s grip on the rifle loosened. 

“Whatever Ran promised you, I’ll make sure you get it. And more.” Qin said. He smiled. His smile made the Gunslinger want to throw up.

“Come on. Be reasonable. You were hired to do a job, right?” Qin asked. He held out his arms, waiting for the Gunslinger to tie him up. 

“So do it.”

*** *** ***

Zero froze, hand stiffening around the pistol. He saw someone standing on the other side of the grey mustang, seeming to stupidly think he was hidden. 

He grinned, jumping out in front of the kid. The kid stared at him, stupid, and then closed his eyes, stretching out his hand as if to touch something Zero couldn’t see.

“Bye, you stupid little-“ Zero never finished. He was standing directly behind the Razor Crest, and the mustang took this opportunity to kick the man as hard as he possibly could. Zero went flying, and when he landed, he didn’t get back up.

The kid’s eyes flew open, and they stared at their hand, as if unsure what to make of their power. The Crest snorted, pleased with himself.

As if on cue, the Gunslinger emerged from the prison, a buff man with auburn hair in tow. The Gunslinger glanced at Zero’s body with a bored expression, and then to the kid, and then to the Crest. 

“Saddle up, kid.” The Gunslinger said, pushing the man into the wagon. “We got a long ride ahead of us.”

*** *** ***

Arriving back in the Bandit’s Pass, the Gunslinger felt more confident, oddly. Almost vindicated.

Xi’an, Mayfeld, and Burg didn’t get what they deserved. They were tied up neatly in a cell together. The Gunslinger had never gotten what he deserved, so neither did they. He was different. Better. He had to be.

Ran looked surprised to see the Gunslinger enter, much less with Qin in tow, the latter looking slightly guilty. Ran’s eyes darted between the two, and he plastered on a fake smile.

“Where are the others?” He asked.

“No questions asked. That’s the policy, right?” The Gunslinger asked. 

“Yeah,” Ran agreed reluctantly. “That is the policy.”

“I did the job.” The Gunslinger said. 

“Yeah, you did.” Ran said. He pulled a drawstring bag out of his pocket and tossed it to the Gunslinger. It clinked. The sound of money.

The Gunslinger fought to suppress a smile. “Just like the good old days.” 

“Just like the good old days.” Ran agreed.

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger, admittedly, get the hell out of dodge as soon as he was out of sight. He was fairly certain that Ran was ordering snipers to train their sights on him. 

He left them a little present. 

He opened the flare, and tossed it onto one of the rocks, the distinct green flame signaling ‘help, enemies’.The Gunslinger might have been mistaken, but he was fairly certain he saw a green light go off in the distance, a confirmation that reinforcements were on the way.

Once they were far enough away, he slowed the Razor Crest, allowing the horse to keep a brisk trot. He glanced down at the content kid. He sighed, taking off his hat. The kid looked up hopefully.

“I told you that was a bad idea.” He said. Looking straight ahead, he dropped the hat onto the kid’s head, pretending not to hear the satisfied giggle. 

And yet, the Gunslinger smiled all the same.


	7. The Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear god there is so much here. Ahhhhhhhh I hope the lore fits well oh my god. 
> 
> Hope y’all enjoy because next chapter we’re introducing even MORE lore

The Gunslinger, foolishly, thought that he had escape consequences for Nevarro.

Maybe ‘escape’ was the wrong word. It was more like he knew it would come back to bite him if he let it, but as long as he outran it, he would be fine.

 _I guess I didn’t run fast enough,_ the Gunslinger thought, bemused. Because the man speaking to him in the small bar said Karga had sent him.

“I-I’m not looking for trouble. He didn’t send me to bring you in.” The man said quickly, hands going up in surrender when he saw the Gunslinger’s fingers trail to his pistol. “I’m not here to fight you.”

“I hope not. For your sake.” The Gunslinger said, still glaring. “How is he even alive? The Crest kicked him.” The kid pressed against him, and the Gunslinger, for once, wish he had left the kid outside, even though he had learned letting them out of his sight usually meant trouble for him. 

The man smiled. “Broken ribs, but that’s about it. But hey, you’re alive too. I guess you can call it even.” 

The Gunslinger did not find this amusing. “What does he want?”

“A lot has happened since you...ah, you know.” He mimed shooting. “The guy who hired you is still there, and he’s attracting more ex-Confederates than flies to a corpse. They took over Nevarro. They put their own laws into place. It’s...you know, messing with how things are. We wanna take him out, but we can’t get close enough. Karga’ll pay you. Like, he’ll pay you a lot.” 

“And what happens if I refuse?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Well, I don’t think you should, personally.” He said, and nodded to the kid, who hid his face shyly. “They’re not gonna stop gunning for that kid, for one. There’s that. You’ll also be allowed back in Nevarro.” 

“You have ten seconds to get out before I shoot you.” The Gunslinger said, unable to stop himself from glancing at the kid. 

The man started backing up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! And don’t worry; it’s an open offer. Karga says he’ll meet you by the dead mesquite tree five miles out of town, and he’ll be there at seven in the evening sharp each night.” The man smiled. “He said you’ll come back eventually.”

And with that, the man left.

*** *** ***

Of course he wouldn’t go.

First of all, the chances were one in a million that Greef Karga wasn’t just trying to bait him so he could kill him, either for revenge or profit.

Second, he would have to bring the kid-it wasn’t like he had a babysitter-and then he would be right where the Confederates wanted him. He had barely escaped the first time, he didn’t want to try his luck again.

Third, if he did somehow manage to kill the officer, then what? Karga could still shoot him for revenge. 

A chill from the night air made him shiver, and he turned on his side. He had been going over reasons why he shouldn’t go, and all the reasons were perfectly logical. The Gunslinger was a very logical man, after all.

But then his eyes saw the kid, sleeping peacefully on the loaned blankets, content to sleep on sand instead of a bed, shivering in his sleep in front of a long dead fire. Did he know how much the world wanted him dead? Or was he blissfully unaware?

The Gunslinger tried to go through his logical reasoning again, but logic had abandoned him.

All the same, he didn’t trust Karga enough to go alone, especially with the kid in tow.

_I may not have a babysitter, but I can find backup._

*** *** ***

The Gunslinger found Cara Dune quickly, hanging around the outer edges of Sorgan. He had wanted to try and wait for a good time to talk to her, but the second the kid saw her, he lost all pretense, the kid racing up to her and hugging her tightly, barely reaching her waist.

Cara jumped, nearly attacking in surprise, but blinked when she saw the smiling kid attached to her waist. She looked up, and sighed deeply when she saw the Gunslinger.

“I was wondering when I’d run into you again.” She muttered.

“Looking for some work?” The Gunslinger asked.

*** *** ***

“It seems like a straightforward operation.” The Gunslinger said.

They were sitting over coffee, at the same table that had sat at when they first swapped stories. The kid stared at the cups with the same look one might give a rotting animal corpse, seeming to remember his experience with it. That was...three, maybe four weeks ago? Had it really been only that long? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“And you’re taking the kid there?” Cara asked.

“That’s why I’m coming to you.” The Gunslinger said.

She sighed. “I dunno.” She took a sip from her cup. “I’ve been advised to lay low. The violence is spreading. I like my neck intact, not hanging from a tree branch.”

“You think someone might recognize you?” The Gunslinger asked.

“I think someone might get drunk, put on a white hood and dress and take it out on me if I don’t watch my step.” Cara corrected, still in a nonchalant tone, as if she were discussing the weather as opposed to a lynch mob.

She shook her head. “Even exchanging money for a ride is risky.”

“I have money. I can take care of that.” The Gunslinger said.

Cara chuckled. “You must be really desperate. I’m not playing soldier to take down some local bandit gang.”

“It’s not bandits.” The Gunslinger leaned forward. “Ex-Confederate.”

Cara’s face suddenly darkened, and the Gunslinger wondered if she was going to punch him just for saying ‘Confederate’.

She leaned back, and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m in.”

*** *** ***

“So who’s this other guy we need?” Cara asked, squinting at the horizon of the prairie, as if someone might suddenly appear. “Does he know I’m coming?”

“No.” The Gunslinger said, hoping he was going the right way. 

Cara raised her eyebrows. “That could be a problem.”

“It won’t.” The Gunslinger said. “But if it is, that’s his problem.”

“You trust the contact?” Cara asked.

“...not particularly.” The Gunslinger admitted. “He and I had a bit of a run-in last time I was in town.”

“So then why are we going?”

“I don’t have a choice.” The Gunslinger said, looking to face her. “You saw what happened on Sorgan. They’ll keep sending people. The kid’ll never be safe until the officer is dead.”

“And you’re okay with bringing him back there?” Cara asked, looking at her sabre, the long, sheathed blade tapping the hindquarters of her old bay horse.

“Not really. That’s why I’m bringing you.” The Gunslinger said.

The Razor Crest, having been so well behaved, decided it was time to raise some hell. Although he wasn’t entirely to blame this time; the kid, bored and fidgeting, had decided to bounce in the saddle, and the Crest took this as a signal the bolt as though the devil was on his heels.

The Gunslinger tumbled off with a surprised yelp, and his face burned when he heard Cara laughing. He got up with what dignity he could muster, brushing himself off, grabbing the reins of the Crest before the mustang got over his surprise. The kid looked sheepish.

“We need somebody to watch them.” Cara said, still snickering. 

“Yes.” The Gunslinger agreed stiffly, climbing back into the saddle.

“Got anyone you trust?” She asked.

The Gunslinger looked over the crest of the hill, and saw the tiny ranch sitting comfortably in the center of the valley. “We’re here.” He said.

*** *** ***

The Cherokee man came out to greet them, not looking surprised to see the Gunslinger and the kid, nor Cara. He glanced at the kid. “He hasn’t grown much.” He said, leading the Gunslinger to wonder if he knew that humans didn’t grow as fast as foals.

“This is Cara Dune.” The Gunslinger said, gesturing to her. 

“You were Union infantry?” The Cherokee man asked.

Cara looked at her coat, and then back at the Cherokee man. “You served?” She asked.

The Cherokee man smiled sadly. “On the other side, I’m afraid.”

Cara’s pleasant smile dropped off her face.

“But I am happy to say I have put them and their misguided ways behind me. I serve no one but myself.” The Cherokee man said, as if he expected them not to have any further questions.

The Gunslinger probably would have asked a question, but he was interrupted by the barn door swinging open.

“M-Mister K-K-K-Kanuna?” In an instant, the Gunslinger was on his feet, rifle aimed at the too-familiar voice. Sure enough, the addict who had tried to kill the kid-Isaiah Green-walked out of the barn, holding a hay bale. When Green saw the rifle aimed at his head, he gave a choked yelp, dropping the bale. 

“D-d-d-d-don’t shoot!” He yelped. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” The Gunslinger snarled.

The Cherokee man-Kanuna, if Green was correct in his addressing-stepped forward. “Please, lower your gun. He will not harm you.”

“That addict,” The Gunslinger spat the word. “Tried to kill the kid.”

“What?!” Cara asked, looking shocked.

“He will not do so now.” Kanuna said.

Green nodded earnestly. “Y-y-y-yeah. No k-k-k-killing. P-p-promise.” His stutter seemed worse, but the Gunslinger didn’t know if it was fear, drugs, or something else. His hands shook badly, still raised in the air.

“How can you be sure? He’s an addict, he’ll do anything for-” The Gunslinger said, but Kanuna shook his head.

“He is not anymore.” Kanuna turned to Green. “Will you please let the horses out? I need to speak to our guests in private.” 

Green nodded, slowly putting his hands down. “S-s-sure. J-Just call me if y-y-y-y-you need any h-h-help.” Slowly, as if expecting something to explode, he picked up the dropped hay bale, and went back into the barn.

*** *** ***

“Would you like some tea?” Kanuna asked, shuffling around calmly inside his tent. Cara stood behind the Gunslinger, and the kid plopped down and made themselves comfortable, beginning to play with his doll.

“I’d like an explanation as to why you’re keeping that maniac around.” The Gunslinger snapped. 

Kanuna looked up. “He is not a maniac. He is a boy who has made mistakes.” 

Kanuna seemed to be set on making tea, whether the others wanted to or not. “I found him in the wake of your destruction, nearly dead. I brought him back with me, nursed him back to health.”

He sighed. “I will not lie. It was not very easy. He was very hostile at first, and tried to run away several times before he was well enough to do so. He seemed to be afraid I wished him ill.”

Kanuna set out cups, waiting for the water to boil. “There was much permanent damage to Isaiah’s body and mind that I do not believe can be taken away.” The Gunslinger thought of Green’s empty, almost ageless eyes, the premature grey in his hair, his shaking and stuttering. 

“But eventually, he was well enough to leave. I offered him a job, and he accepted. He has been a great help since.” Kanuna said. 

There was a nervous cough at the tent’s entrance. Green stood there awkwardly. He glanced at Cara. “Uh, m-m-m-m-ma’am, I hope you don’t m-m-mind, but I put your h-h-h-horse out in with the o-o-others.”

The Gunslinger’s body still stiffened, unmoved by Kanuna’s story. Green had tried to kill the kid-there was no going back from that, recovery be damned.

_I’ll never let him near the kid._

*** *** ***

He approached Kanuna during sunset, as the man was tending to his Appaloosa. 

“I’ve run into some problems.” The Gunslinger said.

“I figured as much.” Kanuna said. “Why else would you return?”

“I want to hire your services.” The Gunslinger said.

Kanuna smiled. “I’m retired from services.”

“I can pay you handsomely.” The Gunslinger coaxed. “I need someone to protect the little one.”

“I am not suited for such work.” He paused. “I can ask Isaiah to do so-”

“No.” The Gunslinger said firmly. “I don’t want that addict anywhere near him.”

“Why are you so distrustful?” Kanuna asked, bemused.

“He tried to kill the kid.” The Gunslinger snapped. 

“He was under a spell, in a way. He had no will of his own.” Kanuna turned back to the Appaloosa. “He was not good or bad. He was a neutral reflection of those who imprint upon him.”

“I’ve seen otherwise.” The Gunslinger said tersely.

“Do you trust me?” Kanuna asked.

“From what I can tell, yes.” The Gunslinger said reluctantly.

“Then you will trust Isaiah.” Kanuna said. “He will join me. And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Confederate slavery. None will be free until the remains of their ideals are gone forever.” He patted the Appaloosa, satisfied. “I have spoken.”

*** *** ***

“I got you. You’re slipping.” Cara said, her arm straining.

“Care to double the bet?” The Gunslinger asked.

Tensions were high, and everyone was nervous when they stopped to make camp for the night, most of all seemingly the kid, who seemed to slip between clinginess and silent tantrums with no regard for rationality. So when Cara made a small comment that the kid was turning the Gunslinger soft, he had to defend his honor. With arm wrestling, of course. 

Kanuna was tending to a fire, Green brushing down his dainty golden Arabian, whom he somehow still had. The kid watched Cara and the Gunslinger with wide eyes.

Suddenly, Cara’s hand went slack, and the Gunslinger slammed it down. “Ha!” He said, preparing to gloat, but froze when he saw Cara’s hands go to her throat, as if trying to fend off an invisible strangler. She gasped.

“W-w-what’s happening?!” Green said, sounding panicked, and Kanuna looked back, just as surprised. 

The Gunslinger looked over and saw the kid, staring at Cara with a strange expression, hand balled in a fist. Cara wheezed, desperate.

“No, no!” He said, rushing over to the kid. He blinked, refocusing on the Gunslinger with a confused expression. “Stop! Cara is my friend!” He heard Cara gasp, and breathe again. Relief washed over him, and then horror. What had the kid done? Just yesterday he had hugged Cara like an old friend. Had he really thought the Gunslinger was in danger? Worse yet, would he have continued to choke her if the Gunslinger had not intervened?

“That’s not okay!” Cara said, trying to mask fear in her voice.

“W-w-w-what was t-t-t-that?! Did the k-kid-” Green took a step back, looking unsure.

“Hm.” Kanuna said. “Very curious.”

“Curious?!” Cara snapped. “He almost killed me!”

“The story you told of the wolf now makes more sense.” Kanuna said. 

“What is it?” The Gunslinger said.

“I have heard rumors of it.” Kanuna said.

“When?” Cara snapped. “When you worked for good ol’ Johnny Reb?”

Kanuna whirled to face her, fury in his eyes. His voice was still quiet. “I did what I thought was best for my people,” He said in a low voice. “And you did what was best for your’s. I assure you I have paid for my war in full.”

“And somehow, here you are.” Cara said.

“Here _I_ am, and only I!” He snapped. 

Green stood up, looking ready to break up a fight should one arise.

“Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am or who I shall serve.” Kanuna said, looking mad. Cara glared, but was quiet.

“What rumors have you heard?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Whispers of those who live deep in the desert, unable to be reached by any means I know of.” Kanuna said, turning his attention to the kid, who grabbed the Gunslinger’s arm, for once uncomfortable being the center of attention. “They worship a race of humans entirely unlike our own, ones with powers beyond belief. They call them kachinas.”

“I’ve h-h-h-heard of them.” Green said quietly. “T-t-t-they control r-r-rain, c-crops, and the s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-” He gave up on ‘sun’. “But I’ve s-s-seen statues f-f-for k-k-kachinas. They d-d-don’t look like the k-k-k-k-kid.” He said.

“No.” Kanuna agreed. “Not pure ones. But there are stories of them interacting with mortals in many ways.”

There was a heavy silence. The Razor Crest snorted as if voicing his disbelief.

“So,” The Gunslinger said, suddenly dizzy. “You’re telling me the kid is half-god?”

“‘God’ is a bad word for a kachina.” Kanuna said, smiling slightly. “But half supernatural. But that is only a theory. There’s only one way to find out.” 

“And that is?” The Gunslinger asked.

“Ask the child yourself.” Kanuna said.

*** *** ***

When they met Karga, he was flanked by two others. He smiled when he saw them coming. A crocodile smile.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, but things have gotten complicated since I last saw you.” Karga said.

“So I've heard.” The Gunslinger said.

Karga took in the group-a Cherokee man, a small child, a shaking addict, and a black woman in a Union uniform. He was a bit taken aback, to say the least. “It appears introductions are in order. We both have a security detail.” He gestured to Cara. “I recommend she stays behind.”

“She stays with me.” The Gunslinger said.

Karga smiled. “I only say so because the town is run by ex-Confederate.”

Cara smiled. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Karga huffed. “Fine! Fine. At least don’t wear your coat.” He spread his arms. “And the little one!”

The kid ducked his head behind the Razor Crest’s neck, and the mustang raised his head higher as if to cover them. Karga smiled. “So that little guy is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature! I can see why you didn’t want any harm to come to him.”

Karga clapped. “Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.” He pointed in the direction of the town. “The sun is setting. We can make camp on the riverbank and arrive first thing tomorrow.”

*** *** ***

The night felt oppressive, heavy, as though the world recognized what was going to happen, and held its breath. Stars lit up the sky, as did the fire the group was gathered around, but there was no moon. Karga was still watching the kid.

“They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing.” Karga said thoughtfully. “Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie.” 

The Gunslinger wondered if Karga really believed that. “Let’s go over the plan again.” He said.

Karga sighed. “We bring the child as bait. I talk to the client. We sit down, and you kill them.”

“How many guards will there be?” Cara asked. 

“No more than four.” Karga said. “I wouldn’t worry about them.”

“What if they try to attack us?” The Gunslinger asked.

“They won’t.” Karga said.

The Gunslinger felt frustrated. “That’s not good enough.”

Karga sighed, as if placating a small child. “If, for argument's sake, the few soldiers who are there don’t recognize that I am their best chance at employment, then these skilled men-” He gestured to the two men in his entourage. “-will take them out easily.”

He stood up, shuffling over to his horse to grab his water bottle. It slipped out of his hands and hit the ground. Karga sighed, kneeling down to grab it. “Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

It was too fast to process. Karga reached out into a dimly lit bit of brush to grab his water, and there was a loud _**SHHHHHHHHHHHK!**_ that lasted less than a second, a warning given too late. Karga jerked back, but it was too late. Something lunged from the brush, and seemed to hit Karga on the next. 

Immediately, the group broke into panic as Karga fell. The rattlesnake slithered off into its hiding place.

Cara jumped to her feet. “Get out of the way!” She ordered, rushing to Karga, who was already shaking, face screwed up in pain. The snake had bitten Karga’s neck, right next to his jugular. 

“Dammit.” Karga wheezed. “All that to be stopped by a damn snake.”

“You’re gonna be fine. Shut up.” Cara said, but the Gunslinger could see that she was lying. He looked to Karga’s entourage suspiciously. His grief would be rather small if Karga died, but what about them? What would they do if their leader was gone?

“Get the kid out of here!” Cara said, and the Gunslinger realized that the kid was kneeling next to Karga, looking at the bite with interest.

“Wait.” Kanuna ordered, looking at the kid, clearly anticipating something. The kid ignored everyone, and slowly stretched his hand out. Karga flinched, maybe from the venom, the kid, or something more supernatural. The kid closed his eyes, and the wound began to close.

Within seconds, it looked like nothing had happened at all. The kid slumped, and the Gunslinger put his hand against the kid’s back to prevent him from toppling over.

Karga carefully touched his neck, eyes wide in surprise. “How…?” He asked, trailing off.

No one had an answer for him.

*** *** ***

“You think they’re having second thoughts?” Cara asked, watching Karga and his entourage exchange words in low voices the next morning.

“Could be.” The Gunslinger said, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need your eyes.”

“I’m watching.” She assured him.

They came to the crest of a hill, and the Gunslinger stopped, looking over Nevarro. It somehow looked exactly the same. The Razor Crest snorted, prancing nervously. Karga stared at the city, almost looking...mournful?

“I guess this is it.” He said.

Alarm bells went off in the Gunslinger’s head, but before he could react, Karga whirled around and fired two shots-killing his entourage.

The Crest screamed.

“W-w-w-what the hell?!” Green said, his Arabian pulling on the lead.

“There’s something you should know.” Karga said. “The plan was to kill you and take the kid.” 

“Shocker.” Cara mumbled.

“But after what happened last night I couldn’t go through with it.” Karga continued. He spread his arms, and dropped his gun. “Go ahead. Kill me. But if you do that child will never be safe.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Cara said.

“The Confederate client is obsessed with taking that asset.” Karga pointed to the kid. “You tried to run, but where did it get you?” 

“This is ridiculous.” Cara said, drawing her sabre. 

“Perhaps you should let them speak.” Kanuna said.

“Listen, we both need the client to be eliminated.” Karga said. “Let me take the child to him, and then you two-”

“No.” The Gunslinger said.

“Let’s just kill him and get outta here.” Cara said.

The Gunslinger was quiet, thinking of the kid. Sure, killing Karga was probably the safest option. And then what? They run again, and how long would it be until another hunter was after them? How long before the Gunslinger’s luck ran out, and he was lying dead in the dust? How long until the kid was a prisoner to an evil empire that didn't seem to stay dead? 

“He’s right.” He said finally. 

“...what are you doing?” Cara asked.

“As long as the officer lives, he’ll send hunters after the child.” The Gunslinger said.

“It’s a trap!” Cara said, looking at him like he was stupid. Maybe he was.

“Bring me.” The Gunslinger said.

“Bring you?” Karga asked. 

“Tell him you captured me. Bring me close and I’ll kill him.” The Gunslinger said.

Karga nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea...give me your rifle.” The Gunslinger handed it to him, adjusting his clothing to cover his twin pistols. 

“This is insane!” Cara protested.

“It’s the only way.” The Gunslinger said.

Cara scowled. “Well, I’m coming with you.” She took off her coat, turning it inside out to cover the Union markings.

“No, no, no. That would make them suspicious.” Karga said.

“I don’t care.” She snapped. “I’m coming.”

“Tell them she caught me.” The Gunslinger said.

“Fine!” Karga huffed. “She can bring the child.”

“No.” The Gunslinger said quickly. “The kid goes with Kanuna, far away until this is over.” 

Karga threw his hands up. “But without the child, none of this works!”

“We lie.” The Gunslinger said. He turned to Kanuna. “Take the kid to the next town over. Don’t tell anyone anything. If we aren’t back to meet you there in twenty four hours, run.”

Kanuna nodded, dismounting from the Appaloosa to take the kid. “The child will be safe with me.” He assured the Gunslinger. The kid looked at the Gunslinger pleadingly, not wanting to go, but the Gunslinger gently nudged him off the Crest, and Kanuna helped him onto the Appaloosa. 

“Stay here, hidden.” Kanuna told Green. “Help them if you see trouble.”

Green nodded. “Yes s-s-s-s-s-s-sir.” 

The Gunslinger didn’t want Green’s help, but it was better than having the addict near the child. 

“Good luck.” Kanuna said, nodding to the Gunslinger before nudging the Appaloosa to go. The kid craned his neck around to watch the Gunslinger.

“Ready?” Karga asked, retrieving rope from his saddle bag.

The Gunslinger held out his wrists. “As I’ll ever be.”

*** *** ***

Confederates in grey uniforms stared at the Gunslinger as he entered, a different one seeming to be milling about every few feet. They glared at the trio with such hate that the Gunslinger was worried they would be shot then and there. He heard the Razor Crest scream from the edge of the town where he had been tied up. Somehow, that made the Gunslinger feel a little better that the mustang was still ready for a fight.

“You said four.” Cara said, jaw clenched. “There’s more than four soldiers.”

“Four guarding the client.” Karga said. “More in the town.” 

Cara stared straight ahead, pretending not to see the soldiers glare at her as though she had personally spit on them.

“Here we are.” Karga pushed the Gunslinger into the saloon. Once so full of life and chatter, it was empty now, except for the officer, seated in the seat where Karga always was. And surrounded by at least a dozen soldiers in grey uniforms. 

“This is more than four.” Cara hissed.

“Stay calm.” Karga said.

The officer looked at Karga. “I see you have returned. With the thief, but not the asset.” He leaned forward. “Where is it?”

Karga gave a jovial smile, and the Gunslinger realized it was the same one he always gave. How many times had Karga faked a good mood? “Must we get to business right away?” Karga asked, sitting down in the booth, pretending to force the Gunslinger to sit as well. Cara went to sit as well, but froze when the officer suddenly turned his attention to her.

“What is this?” He asked in a low tone, as though Karga had brought a stray dog. 

“Ah, this is the bounty hunter who caught our loose _vaquero_ here!” Karga said, nodding at Cara.

The officer looked suspicious. “Is this true?” He asked Cara.

Cara nodded. “Yes.”

The officer glared, seeming to wait for something. 

Cara grit her teeth, looking exactly two seconds away from drawing her sabre. “Yes sir.” She managed to say.

The officer nodded. “Respect,” He said, seeming to almost forget what he was doing here. “Respect is what the Confederate States of America is founded on. Respect for ourselves, and respect for our rights.”

“The war is over.” The Gunslinger said.

“For you, perhaps.” The officer said. “But we rely on honor, and we will have our honor restored.” The officer leaned forward. “Are you not a man of honor, _vaquero?_ Is that not what you people are rooted in? Honor, sacrifice, and duty? Is that not your Aztec bullshit?”

The Gunslinger’s heart stopped.

The officer smiled. “Oh yes. I have learned much about the _vaqueros_ through my higher up. He is quite fascinated in your people. He had told me many a barbaric tale of your kind, your blue scarves, your hidden gold, your statues of pagan gods. Tell me; after you kill one hundred people to make sure the sun rises, do you eat their hearts?”

The Gunslinger longed to punch the officer, shoot him, yell that he knew nothing of honor, sacrifice, or duty, that he was a coward. But he clenched his fists, and said nothing, knowing the officer was looking to get a rise out of him.

_But how DOES he know about that?_

Sure, some people knew about the ancient Aztec heritage of the _vaqueros_ , but such details were closely guarded secrets. Supposedly.

“I would like to see the child.” The officer said suddenly.

Karga chuckled, cheerful facade cracking slightly. “He's in the next town over. We didn’t want to bring him in first thing, after all. Someone could easily grab him and take the bounty!”

The officer glared. “What town?” 

“Must we get down to the unplesantries?” Karga laughed. “How has life been treating you lately?”

Cara looked nervously to Karga as the soldiers inched closer, and the Gunslinger’s hand slowly started to go towards his pistol. He could only draw one with his bound hands, but it would have to do.

The officer glared. “What town? I will send troops.”

“Can you trust these troops?” Karga stalled.

The officer leaned forward. “Do not even think about playing games with me, Karga. Now; where is the asset?”

Karga was silent, opening his mouth and closing it like a fish. He looked around to each soldier, and then the Gunslinger and Cara. He opened his mouth.

There was a gunshot, and a soldier fell, dead.

The Gunslinger blinked. Karga and Cara looked just as shocked. The officer stood up. “What-”

The sound of gunshots filled the air. The Gunslinger dove to the ground, shuffling behind the wall for cover. Dust filled the air as bullets ricocheted off of the adobe walls, and he heard something shatter above him, shards of glass sprinkling him like dangerous snowflakes. 

Finally, the noise died down, and the dust began to clear. The soldiers were dead. “Oh my God.” He heard Karga say. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

He saw Cara crouching behind a table, looking wide eyed. He nodded to her; he was unhurt. She nodded back, relieved. 

Karga peeked over the window where he was hidden. He gasped. “Oh my God.” He said again. 

The Gunslinger hazarded a look outside, and felt sick. A massive troop of Confederate soldiers, a mix of artillery, infantry, and cavalry, stood outside, in perfect formation. Many of their rifles were smoking.

A tall man in a general’s uniform came forward, looking pleased. Even from where he was hidden, the Gunslinger could see mania in the general’s eyes.

“You have something I want!” He said loudly, and the Gunslinger ducked down, not wanting to look at the insane man any longer. “I have searched far and wide for it, despite your efforts to keep it hidden! Even as we speak, my men are closing in on it!”

“And soon,” The general said, a cruel glee in his voice. “It will be mine.”

It was the Gunslinger’s turn to speak this time.

“Oh my God.” He whispered.

*** *** ***

Two thoroughbreds race towards Nevarro, their riders clad in grey uniforms, looking entirely unconcerned. They do not look behind them, they do not care.

Becoming more and more distant to the riders, who carry a small child with a burlap sack over his head, lies a dead Appaloosa, mismatched eyes open and staring at the sky, neck craned back awkwardly as if it were preparing to fight as it died.

And less than three feet from the Appaloosa, there is a dead Cherokee man, lying face down in the dirt, eyes open wide as well, staring at nothing and everything at the same time, tears overflowing with grief for the child he could not save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of yall are getting too comfortable with your story summaries. like, cool, write your smut. but do i want to read an excerpt of heavy sex with the mandalorian bottoming when im just trying to find some found family stuff? no. so please. stop


	8. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall im gonna be living my BEST cowgirl life come college this fall, bitch going to a 27,000 acre college with only like 2,000 students, with a big-ass stable and like eight other animal centers, imma PARTY

“We didn’t get the signal.” Hunter, a Confederate soldier said, looking down into the town of Nevarro. 

His partner, Alan, sighed. “What’d you expect? Gideon’s nuts. He’s probably only halfway through his monologue by now.”

The child, with his arms bound and face covered, wriggled uncomfortably in Hunter’s saddle. Hunter scowled, grabbing them roughly by the arm. “Knock it off, you brat.”

“It probably doesn’t know English.” Alan said. “I wouldn’t touch it much; it probably has diseases or something.” He paused. “You heard the gunshots, right? You think Gideon would kill his own men?”

“Oh, who knows.” Hunter sighed. “These guys like to lay down the law when they first arrive in town. You know how it is.” His grip on the kid’s arms tightened more as he tried to jerk away, and this time the kid visibly flinched. “I said knock it off!” 

Alan pulled his horse closer to Hunter’s. “So what’s so special about it anyway?” He asked. 

“Uh, I dunno.” Hunter shrugged. “I don’t ask questions.”

“...can I see it?” Alan asked.

Hunter looked at him as if he were crazy. “Did you not just hear that General Gideon killed a dozen other soldiers to make a point?”

“Okay!” Alan huffed.

“I get that point!” Hunter said. “Do you get that point?”

“God, yes. Yeesh.” Alan rolled his eyes.

“Good.” Hunter said.

There was a calm silence for a long moment, the two soldiers overlooking Nevarro once more. 

“...should we offer it some water?” Alan asked.

Hunter shook his head. “You just wanna look at it.”

“So what?!” Alan prosted. “You got to see it!”

“Barely.” Hunter said. “I just grabbed it and put the bag on.”

“...more than I got to see.” Alan said, sounding hurt.

“Look, I’m not taking this thing outta the bag until I deliver it to the General.” Hunter said. 

“Fine.” Alan grumbled.

“Okay.” Hunter nodded. “Stop asking.”

Alan didn’t keep his word for long. “Hey, how long has it been since that thing moved?” 

Hunter glanced at the kid, letting go of their arm experimentally. There was a ring of dark, finger shaped bruises around his forearm, but the kid was still. “I don’t know, like a minute or two, don’t worry.” Hunter said. 

“Uh, it’s been way longer than a minute.” Alan said.

“Oh, my God.” Hunter said. 

“I mean, shouldn’t we check to see if that thing’s alive?” Alan reasoned.

“You just wanna see it!”

“We should check to see if it’s hurt. The last thing you wanna do is give Gideon a dead body!”

“Okay!” Hunter said, ripping off the burlap sack. The kid blinked, sun shining in his eyes. “Okay, look. Here you go. See? Take a peek, everything’s fine.”

Alan pulled his horse even closer, squinting at the kid. The kid glared at him. “What is it?” He asked, poking the kid’s face. The kid leaned away.

“An Indian, stupid. Can’t you see?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah, but why does Gideon want it? It-AUGH!” Alan reeled back, nearly falling off his horse. The kid had bitten him, hard enough to break skin. Hunter burst out laughing. Alan retaliated, punching the kid in the face, sending him falling off the horse roughly. He felt the kid's nose crack beneath his fist, and felt a sick satisfaction from it.

Hunter was still laughing. “Serves you right.” He chuckled.

“Little bastard. Thank God these ugly shits are going onto reservations.” Alan muttered, examining his finger. 

There was a low, distant whinny, and the two glanced behind them, seeing a tiny golden dot get bigger. A tiny golden horse, getting closer every second.

Hunter aimed his rifle. “Identify yourself!” He shouted. 

There were two shots, and the Confederate soldiers fell off their horses at the same time, dead.

Isaiah Green easily stopped right next to the child, clicking his tongue softly to calm the golden Arabian. “H-h-h-hey kid.” He said nervously.

The kid beamed at him, despite their crooked and bloody nose. 

“T-that was u-u-u-u-unpleasant.” Isaiah said, kneeling down next to the kid, hastily cutting off the ropes binding him. “S-s-s-s-sorry you h-had t-t-t-t-t-to see that.” 

Carefully, he helped the kid onto the Arabian. “I-I-I would t-t-take you someplace s-s-safe,” He said, looking upset. “But they g-g-got M-m-m-m-mister K-Kanuna.” He paused, looking for a second like he might cry. He seemed to shake it away. “A-a-and I reckon your Pa n-n-n-needs some help right n-n-n-n-n-now.” 

He swung into the saddle, clicking his tongue again. “D-d-d-don’t let m-m-me down, E-e-e-e-e-e-ellie. We got s-s-s-s-some greys t-t-to shoot.”

*** *** ***

“Is there another way out?” Cara asked, peeking out at the soldiers standing silently right outside the saloon, waiting for their signal.

“There’s a secret exit I use.” Karga said. “But there’s nowhere to go.”

“The _vaqueros_ have a secret covert.” The Gunslinger said. His heart was pounding, and his mind didn’t want to think about anything except the kid, but he had to focus. “They can help us escape.” He said. 

“But we’ll need a diversion. Otherwise they’ll see us leaving.” Karga said.

Cara looked outside again. “What the hell are they waiting for?” She muttered.

There was loud, metallic rolling noise, and Cara’s eyes widened. The soldiers were rolling out a cannon-far bigger than the Howitzer in Sorgan. 

“It’s over.” Karga said quietly, watching them set out several crates of gunpowder with meticulousness. 

“I would prefer to avoid any further violence,” The general called out. “And encourage a moment of consideration.”

He looked to the cannon. “Members of my escort have assembled a Whitworth cannon.” He smiled cruelly. “If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure former slave and Union infantry member Cara Dune of Atlanta, Georgia will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks killed instant by shell shrapnel. 

Cara looked as though she had been shot. 

“Or perhaps, the _vaquero_ , Din Djarin-” The Gunslinger’s stomach instantly turned, and he felt bile in his throat. “-has heard stories of the Northern strongholds of his kind being turned to rubble with these weapons.”

“I advise Greef Karga to search the wisdom of his years, and urge you to lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order, and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end.”

 _He talks too much,_ The Gunslinger thought, somewhat hysterically. 

“What do you propose?” Karga shouted.

“Reasonable negotiation.” The general said.

Karga scoffed. “What assurance do you offer?”

“If you’re asking if you can trust me, you cannot.” The general said. “Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and your benefit.” He looked behind him at the late afternoon sun. “I will give until nightfall, and then I will have the Whitworth open fire.” 

He turned, leaving with two soldiers. The rest of the soldiers stood where they were, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

“I say we hear him out.” Karga said.

“The minute we open that door, we’re dead.” Cara hissed. 

“We’re dead if we don’t.” Karga said. “At least out there, we’ve got a shot.” 

“That’s easy for you to say!” Cara said, voice shrill with fear. “I was a slave, and a Union soldier, and he knows that! I’m shooting my way out of here!”

Karga sighed. “What about you?” He turned to the Gunslinger. 

Something clicked in his mind. “I know who he is.” He said.

Karga blinked, and Cara turned to him.

“It’s Mannex Gideon.” He said. 

“No.” Cara said. “Gideon was arrested by the Union.”

“It’s him.” The Gunslinger insisted. “He knew me my name.”

“So?” Karga asked. “What does that prove?”

“I haven’t heard that name spoken since I was a child.” The Gunslinger said.

“What?” Karga asked.

“Not since I became a _vaquero_.”

*** *** ***

_There are explosions every, and the screaming in unlike anything he’s ever heard; a mixture of human and animal, filled with nothing but pain and fear. A horse-or what remains of one-gallops by, its body engulfed in flames. The smell makes him retch._

_He grips his father more tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. But he cannot block the sounds and smells-he can even feel the terror in the air, a tangible item he can reach out and take. But he doesn’t want to take it, he wants to be rid of it. But that is not an option._

_Another explosion rings in the air, and he feels the heat on his face. He sees one of the attackers-a pale man with a mustache, scowling, cruel eyes looking out over the destruction with satisfaction. It terrified him more than anything, those empty eyes._

_His father skids to a stop in front of several large barrels, and sets him down. His mother hugs him tightly. He can feel her shaking. His father hugs him as well, and tells him in his serious voice to stay here, stay hidden, don’t come out, we’ll come back for you once it’s over, we promise._

_His mother tells him she loves him. It’s for the last time. Somehow, they both know this.  
He hides, and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise. But it’s impossible. The noise still follows him._

_It is not long before he is found. The barrels are knocked aside, and he flinches, seeing the man with empty eyes standing over him, rifle aimed at his head. He closes his eyes, and wonders if it hurts to die._

_There is a gunshot, but he is not dead._

_He looks up, and sees a man with a blue bandana covering most of his face, standing over the dead body of the other. The man with the blue bandana looks at him, sympathy in his eyes. He extends his hand._

_He takes it._

_He sees more people, with similar bandanas but with different colors, chasing away the attackers. He hears someone screaming and sees Abuela, who is not just his abuela but everyone’s, on her knees and wailing._

_He wonders why she is crying, dimly. Who is dead?_

_And as the man leads him out of the ruins of his home, he realizes: everyone._

*** *** ***

“I was a foundling.” The Gunslinger said. “They raised me as one of their own. When I came of age, I swore by the Code. The only record of my family name was in the registers of the _vaqueros._ Gideon was an officer during the Purge.” He looked to the others, challenging them. “That’s how I know it’s him. That’s how he knows who we all are.”

He looked out, some hope in his chest. “He says he needs us, which means the child must have gotten away. He's probably far away and safe by now.”

*** *** ***

He was not far away and safe by now. 

Surprise. 

He was, however, having a fabulous time on this golden horse. It was just as fast as the Gunslinger’s horse, but a far smoother ride! He would lodge a complaint once he saw his protector again. 

“S-s-s-shit.” The Shaky Man said, and then looked down at the kid. “D-d-d-don’t say that.”

The kid had heard lots of people say that word-especially his protector-but he smiled at the Shaky Man anyway, despite the stabs of pain that shot through his nose.

“H-h-here. You s-steer.” The Shaky Man said, shoving the reins into the kid’s hands, perhaps unwisely.

Isaiah leaned forward in the saddle, and pulled out his pistols, easily shooting down the guards at the gates of Nevarro, and whistled to the Arabian. The mare easily skidded, effectively bodyslamming and trampling the last guard.

“That’s f-f-f-f-for Mister K-k-k-k-k-k-” He sighed. “Fuck it.”

He glanced at the kid with sudden horror. “D-d-d-don’t say t-t-that either!”

The kid had heard that word many times as well.

They raced through the town, little more than a blur, no Confederate escaping Isaiah’s aim. 

Cara perked up, hearing shots. She looked outside, and gasped. “Look!” 

There was a whinny, and the Gunslinger gaped, seeing Green’s golden Arabian jumped with dance-like grace over the cannon. Green slid off, shooting even as he landed, and the Arabian pranced away, kid still on its back. 

“Cover me.” The Gunslinger said, racing out of the saloon, followed by Karga. Cara slid on top of the table, shooting anything that was wearing grey. 

The kid was hiding behind the cannon, having abandoned the Arabian escape route. He smiled pleasantly when he saw the Gunslinger. _What happened to his nose?!_

“H-h-h-heads up!” The Gunslinger heard Green shout, and he turned just in time to kick a soldier away from him, who would have certainly shot him in the back of the head otherwise.

For a second, the Gunslinger felt good. They were doing well. The Confederates were panicking, scattering. _We might get away!_

There was a single shot, but it whizzed by his ear. He glanced behind him, almost by accident, and saw what the shooter had been aiming for. The crate of gunpowder.

There was an explosion that was so loud he might have felt his ears pop, and for some reason, he couldn’t feel his feet on the ground anymore. He heard someone scream, but he had no idea who it was. The world dissolved into ringing-and pain. A lot of pain. 

His back hit solid ground, and everything went black.

*** *** ***

He came to quickly. Too quickly.

Everything hurt, and while he was no stranger to pain, this was unlike anything else. Someone was speaking, but it sounded like they were deep underwater. Was he deaf?

The voice became clearer. Cara. She was worried. Well, the Gunslinger was worried too, so that made two of them. 

They were back in the saloon, Cara arguing they couldn’t leave, that the Gunslinger wasn’t in any shape to go, and Karga was saying they needed to use the secret exit now before the Confederates could regroup.

The Gunslinger knew that if he was moved now, he wouldn’t survive. He needed time to address his most serious wounds, and the spinning that was probably a concussion. But they didn’t have time.

“I’m not gonna make it.” He managed to wheeze. “Go.”

“Shut up.” Cara snapped. He wondered dimly how many times she’d had this conversation with dying soldiers. “You just got your bell rung. You’re gonna be fine.” The shakiness in her voice gave it away. She wasn’t good at disguising this kind of fear.

The Gunslinger tried to shake his head, but stopped. It hurt too much. “Leave me.” His voice sounded too loud to his ears.

Cara went to say something, but suddenly pulled her hand back from him. Her hand was covered in blood. She struggled to catch her breath.

The Gunslinger struggled to breath. Broken ribs. “Make sure the child is safe.” He clawed at his throat, trying to grab the chain. He felt the cloth string, and carefully pulled out a small pendant gold pendant, edged in lapis lazuli-the same one icon every _vaquero_ in his Tezcatlipoca wore. It was Huitzilopochtli, Aztec god of the sun and war.

Cara’s eyes widened as he pushed it to her. “What…?” 

“When you get to the Tezcatlipoca-the covert-show them this. They’re underneath the abandoned hotel. Karga knows the one.” He grit his teeth, an unexpected wave of pain taking him by surprise. “You tell them it’s from Din Djarin. Tell them the foundling was in my protection, and they’ll help you.”

The Gunslinger heard someone crying. The kid. The kid was crying, with his crooked, bloody nose and bruised arms. 

“We can make it!” Cara insisted.

A sudden strong smell filled the air, making the Gunslinger feel sick. Kerosene. They were throwing kerosene into the saloon. The Gunslinger’s heart thudded. “Go!” He rasped. 

It was too late. Orange, bright flames lit up the entrance to the saloon, racing towards them on the kerosene pathway. The heat made the Gunslinger shut his eyes, and he hoped it would be quick for the kid. 

The heat lessened.

The Gunslinger opened his eyes, and saw the silhouette of the kid standing in front of him, arms outstretched, the roaring flames stopping in front of them, like a dog waiting for a command. The kid threw his arms forward, and the flames shot backwards. The Gunslinger heard screaming from the soldiers outside. The kid collapsed, and he saw Green stumble to catch him.

“We need to go! Now!” Karga yelled.

Cara looked close to tears, trying to hold it together. “Go.” The Gunslinger managed to say.

Green was staring at him. He turned to Cara. “E-e-e-escape and protect the ch-child.” He said to Cara. “I’ll s-s-s-s-stay with h-h-h-him.”

Cara paused, and then scooped up the kid, standing up. “Promise me you’ll bring him.” She told Green in a low voice.

He nodded. “You h-h-h-have my word.”

Cara nodded, hoisting the kid up and running out with Karga.

The Gunslinger breathed a pain sigh of relief, and turned to face Green, who knelt next to him. “Do it.” He said.

Green blinked. “P-p-p-p-pardon?”

“Just get it over with.” The Gunslinger grit his teeth. “I’d rather you kill me than one of them.”

Green’s eyes looked ageless, and filled with grief, as though he had seen a thousand years of suffering. They were no longer empty. “I ain’t g-g-gonna hurt y-y-y-you.” He said softly.

“I tried to kill you.” The Gunslinger said.

“Y-y-y-you almost d-d-d-did, if it makes you f-f-feel better.” Green smiled slightly, digging through his bag. He pulled out bandages and a water bottle. 

“I tried to kill you.” The Gunslinger repeated.

“And I-I-I was trying to h-h-h-hurt the kid.” He suddenly looked startled. “A-a-and I didn’t give them the b-b-b-b-bloody nose. I m-m-m-may have taught them a b-b-b-bad word but-”

“I tried to kill you!” The Gunslinger snapped. 

Green paused, and looked at the Gunslinger for a long time. Then he went about treating his injuries, speaking softly. “I t-t-t-t-tried to kill M-m-m-m-mister Kanuna.”

The Gunslinger was silent.

“D-d-d-d-dunno why. I was h-h-h-half crazy from wanting my f-f-f-fix, and I guess h-h-h-he just seemed like a g-g-g-good person to take it out on.” Green paused. “So I h-h-h-have the gun aimed at h-h-h-him and he looks at m-m-m-me, and...he ain’t scared. Not one b-b-b-bit. He says, ‘You ain’t g-g-g-gonna kill me.’ I say ‘I s-s-s-sure as hell am.’ So he walks up to m-m-me, and pushes the g-g-gun down.”

He paused for a split second, looking shaky. “He says, ‘Isaiah, y-y-y-you are not a k-k-k-killer. You are h-h-h-here for a reason. T-t-t-that reason is n-n-n-not to die in a-a-a-an alley alone. I don’t k-k-k-know why you’re here, but I know it’s important.’ And I s-s-s-start bawling like a baby.”

Isaiah paused, looking thoughtful. “And I d-d-d-don’t mean to sound l-l-l-like one of those people who says ‘everything happens f-f-f-f-for a reason’, ‘c-c-c-cause that’s bullshit. But...I think r-r-r-r-right now, I’m h-h-h-here for a reason. To h-h-help.”

Din was quiet, entirely unsure what to say. Isaiah looped his arm under him, helping him up. “Come on.” He said softly. “L-l-l-l-let’s get you back t-t-t-to your k-k-kid.”

*** *** ***

The kid would not stop crying, and Cara was tempted to join them, wandering underneath the old hotel. It was empty. 

There was a loud bang, and footsteps. Cara whirled around, hand on her pistol.

Isaiah came around the corner, helping the Gunslinger limp along. “Oh my God.” Cara gasped, racing up to him. “Are you alright?”

“Never better.” He said thickly. The kid reached for him, wanting to be held. The Gunslinger shook his head. “Not now.”

Isaiah went to step forward, but the Gunslinger moved away. “I can walk.” He said.

“B-b-b-barely.” Isaiah muttered.

“Trade you.” Cara said, dumping the kid into Isaiah’s arms. Isaiah shifted the kid to give him a piggyback ride.

“What d-d-d-do I get?” He grumbled, but still smiled softly at the kid.

“Do you know which way to go?” Karga asked the Gunslinger. 

“It’s...empty.” The Gunslinger said, looking around in visible confusion.

“They probably left after the last big fight.” Karga said.

“There’s always someone here.” The Gunslinger insisted.

Besides the emptiness, there was a distinct sense of...of wrongness in the air. The tunnels, while silent, were always overflowing with life. The Gunslinger felt more and more disoriented as they wandered, as though he had stepped into a nightmare. It didn’t help his headache.

The Huitzilopochtli icon, which usually stood above the entrance to the armory, had been knocked down, cracked. The Gunslinger’s heart stopped. This was no retreat. It was an attack.

In a haze, he went to the broken symbol, kneeling beside it and touching the pieces gently, as if it might bite him. He heard Cara beside him. “We should go.” She said softly.

“You go.” He said. “Take the ship. I can’t leave it like this.” Anger flashed through him, and he turned to Karga. “Did you know about this?!”

“No!” Karga said. “When you left and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the _vaqueros_ just melted away! You know how it is!”

“Did you do this?!” The Gunslinger said, standing up and whirling around, ignoring the spike of agony and black spots that danced around his vision. “Did you?!”

“It was not his fault.” A quiet voice said. The Gunslinger turned, and saw the _cabecilla_ emerge from the armory. Her eyes looked exhausted. “We revealed ourselves.” She said. “We knew what could happen if we left the Tezcatlipoca. The Confederates arrived shortly after. This is what resulted.”

 _You did this,_ a nasty voice in the Gunslinger’s head said. _You did this. They came out because of you_

“Did any survive?” The Gunslinger asked.

“I hope so.” The _cabecilla_ said simply.

“Come with us.” The Gunslinger said. 

The _cabecilla_ shook her head. “No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.” 

She left the armory, walking down the hall, and the Gunslinger followed her, limping. The others trailed behind.

The _cabecilla_ entered the tiny forge, picking up a piece of copper ore and examining it. “Show me the one who’s safety deemed such destruction.” She said.

The Gunslinger nodded at Isaiah, and the boy came forward, the kid clinging to his back like a koala. The _cabecilla_ regarded them with interest. “This is the one you hunted, then saved?” She asked.

“Yes.” The Gunslinger said. “The one that saved me as well.” 

She looked at him. “From the wolf?” 

“Yes.” The Gunslinger said.

She looked at the kid again. “He looks helpless.”

“He's injured, but not helpless.” The Gunslinger said. “He can move objects with his mind.”

“I know of such things.” The _cabecilla_ said. “There are stories of the armies of Ahuitzotl fighting such powers, and others like it. Ones who could summon a storm to wash away enemies, ones who could command snakes to bite them, ones who could turn their weapons into ash. Kachinas.”

“The Kachinas are enemies?” The Gunslinger asked, glancing at the innocent looking kid.

“It’s kind are enemies.” She corrected. “But this individual is not.”

“What is it?” The Gunslinger asked.

“It is a foundling.” The _cabecilla_ said simply. “By the Code, it is in your care.”

“You wish me to train him?” The Gunslinger asked.

“No.” The _cabecilla_ said, sounding amused. “He is too weak. He would die. You have no choice. He must be reunited with his own kind.”

“Where?” The Gunslinger asked.

“This, you must determine.” She said.

“You expect me to search the world for the home of this creature and deliver him to a race of enemy magicians?” He asked incredulously.

The _cabecilla_ paused, having been previously firing up the forge for an unknown reason. “This is the Way.” She said. 

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Hey.” Cara said. “These tunnels are gonna be filled with Confederates in a minute. We should at least discuss an escape plan.”

“If you follow the descending tunnels, you will emerge a few miles out of town from a cave.” The _cabecilla_ said. 

“I think we should go.” Karga said.

“I’m staying.” The Gunslinger said. “I need to help her and heal.”

“You must go.” The _cabecilla_ said. “A foundling is in your care. By Code, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.” She turned to him. “This is the Way.”

And by God, if that wasn’t a terrifying statement, the Gunslinger didn’t know what was.

“You have earned your signet.” She said, as dipped whatever she had been molding from copper in water. It hissed, and she carefully looped the signet pendant on a small hide rope. It was a copper wolf, howling with its nose pointed upwards, both fierce and full of melancholy. 

The Gunslinger carefully took it when the _cabecilla_ held it out to him, speechless. “You are a clan of two.” She said. 

“...thank you.” The Gunslinger said softly, carefully putting on the pendant. It held the weight of the world. “I will wear this with honor.”

There were distant footsteps. “We should go.” Karga said, looking more nervous. 

“You must go.” The _cabecilla_ said.

“Come with us.” The Gunslinger said, almost begging.

“My place is here.” She shook her head, looking completely at ease. “Restock your ammunition. And then go.”

*** *** ***

The tunnels seemed to go on forever and forever. The walls seemed to close in the longer the Gunslinger limped along, and he felt claustrophobic. The kid was quiet, still hitching a ride with Isaiah, the latter looking a bit grumpy that he was still carrying the kid. But he didn’t complain. 

“D-d-d-daylight!” Isaiah said, looking relieved when he saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel. The Gunslinger sighed in relief. This nightmare would be over soon-

Something dark went in front of the light, and a gunshot echoed. The Gunslinger jumped, pressing his back against the rock wall. Soldiers, at the exit, waiting for them to emerge. He heard excited shouting of at least ten different people, but he wouldn’t doubt there was more. “Dammit.” He muttered.

“There’s too many.” Cara said, back pressed against the wall as well.

The Gunslinger sighed, head bowed. He was half-tempted to give up, exhausted and dizzy, the pain only seeming to get worse. Then the kid whimpered, clinging to Isaiah, and the Gunslinger forced himself to focus. 

“There’s too many to shoot.” Karga said, for once looking like he didn’t want to negotiate. 

Isaiah perked up. “I-I-I have b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-black powder in m-m-my b-b-b-b-bag. We can b-b-b-b-blow them up!” He said.

The Gunslinger paused, and then shook his head. “That won’t work. Someone would have to go out and light it. They’d shoot you before you had the chance.”

“N-n-n-n-not if you l-l-l-l-light it yourself.” Isaiah said. 

“That’s suicide.” Karga said.

Isaiah shuffled, looking almost guilty. “I k-k-k-k-know.”

The Gunslinger’s head jerked up to him. “No,” He said immediately. “Don’t be stupid.”

Isaiah smiled with no humor. “If y-y-y-you got a better i-i-i-i-i-idea, I’d love t-t-to h-h-h-h-hear it.”

“No one is blowing themselves up.” The Gunslinger said, feeling panicky, the situation spiraling out of control. “We’ll think of something.”

“I don’t know if we have that kind of time.” Cara said softly. The Gunslinger glared at her.

“There’s n-n-n-no other way to get a-a-a-away without g-g-getting shot at.” Isaiah said. “And if anyone e-e-e-e-e-else goes out, they’ll r-r-r-r-recognize you. I’m the o-o-o-only one they don’t know.” 

“Drop it. Now. You’re not doing this. There’s another way.” The Gunslinger ordered, dizziness getting worse when Isaiah gently set the kid down. “Stop that!”

“T-t-t-t-there’s no other w-w-w-w-way!” Isaiah said, raising his voice for the first time. It wasn’t very loud, or even harsh, but his words carried the weight of a scream.

He ran his shaking hands through his hair. “R-r-r-r-remember what I s-s-s-said about being h-h-h-here for a reason?” He said quietly.

Din didn’t answer.

“I d-d-d-d-don’t got any family l-l-l-left, and I wouldn’t b-b-b-b-b-b-be much of a friend if I d-d-d-didn’t help you when you n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-needed it.” He said quietly. “I ain’t n-n-n-never done anything w-w-w-w-worth shit my whole l-l-l-life. If this is a-a-a-a-all I gotta do now for my r-r-r-redemption, helping you and the k-k-k-kid, I think it’s w-w-w-w-well worth it.”

“You can’t.” Din said. “We need you.”

“D-d-d-d-don’t be sad.” Isaiah said.

“I…” Din trailed off. “I’m not.”

Isaiah grinned. “S-s-s-sure.” He picked up his bag, rummaging through it and grabbing a box of black powder. He glanced at Din. “P-p-p-p-p-promise me you’ll t-t-t-t-take care of the k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-” He stopped, looking frustrated.

Din merely nodded. “I promise.”

Isaiah hoisted up the box, and paused, glancing at Cara. “M-m-m-m-ma’am, do you think y-y-y-you could take c-c-c-care of my r-r-r-ride, Ellie? She g-g-g-g-gets lonely, and I d-d-d-d-don’t want her t-t-t-t-to miss me m-m-m-much.” 

Cara looked surprised, but nodded. “I’d be honored.”

Karga shook Isaiah’s hand, even the cheerful older man seeming to understand the weight of the situation, looking solemn. “B-b-b-be good for your d-d-d-d-d-d-dad, k-k-k-kid.” Isaiah said softly. The kid bowed his head. 

Isaiah gave one last smile, as though he was about to win a difficult game. He walked out of the tunnels. Din shut his eyes.

“Halt!” He heard one of the Confederates shouted. “I order you-”

“Enjoy hell, m-m-motherfuckers!” He heard Isaiah yell. In spite of himself, Din smiled.

There was an explosion that rocked the world, and the smell of burning. Din’s smile fell.

They waited. But it was quiet outside. “He did it.” Cara said softly. 

“Yeah.” Din agreed. 

Cara picked up the kid, who was staring ahead with big, watery eyes. Din limped after them, squinting at the setting sun. He refused to look at the bodies. “We gotta get out of here.” He said. “I can’t-”

_**BANG!** _

There was a shrill, scared whinny, and Din jumped, seeing Gideon, furious, aiming his gun at them, seated on Isaiah’s golden Arabian. Fury flashed through Din. _That’s not your’s._

“Look out!” Cara shouted, diving behind some rubble as bullets peppered the landscape. Din dove after her, Karga close behind. He winced when his bad leg hit the ground hard, but they had bigger problems.

“He missed.” Karga said.

Din heard the whinny again, and a stupid idea came to his mind. Stupid ideas were the only ones they had left. “He won’t miss again.” He said. He stood up shakily. “Cover me.” He told Cara.

Her eyes widened. “You can’t-”

“Please.” He said softly.

She bit her lip, and her expression became steely. “Got it.” 

The copper wolf felt heavy, the signet oddly cold. He had one shot.

Din jumped out of the hiding place, and whistled, loud and shrill. The sound seemed louder than the gunshots that were growing ever closer to him. Gideon evidently wasn’t used to the gun he was shooting with, but he couldn’t miss forever.

For an awful moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then Din heard a scream in response to his whistle, and saw the Razor Crest galloping towards him, the reins snapped in half after breaking away from the post in order to come to Din’s aid.

Even from a distance (a distance that was being closed quickly) he could see the fire in the mustang’s eyes, unafraid and challenging death to just _try_ and take him.

 _A true mustang has a fiery temper_ , Kanuna’s voice echoed. _They are fast, stubborn, and will fight to their last breath. But they are fiercely loyal and passionate animals as well. They are never truly broken in._

When he had said it then, it seemed like a liability. Now it seemed like an advantage no one could top. 

Din tensed, preparing himself. He had never tried to mount a moving horse, but he had seen other _vaqueros_ do it. Of course, they weren’t injured, and usually weren’t mounting a giant mustang going full speed.

 _No time for doubt_ , Din told himself. _Just do it._

The Razor Crest screamed, and Din leapt into action. He swung his foot up, barely catching the stirrup and hoisting himself into the saddle. He nearly fell, but managed to grab the saddle pommel to steady himself. The Crest snorted, a sarcastic congratulations. 

His body screamed to stop, to lay down and never get up again, but he wasn’t done yet. The Crest turned, seeming to already know it’s path without having been told, charging towards the golden Arabian.

The Arabian tried to move, seeming to know the Crest wasn’t going to stop, but Gideon yanked roughly on the reins, jerking the mare’s head back, still shooting at Din. His shots missed, or Din ducked from them.

Din drew his rifle, leaning forward on the saddle to balance himself. Gideon’s eyes widened. “No!” He shouted, trying too late to steer the Arabian away. 

There was one shot, and he fell from his saddle, and the Arabian reared, running from the fallen general. 

The Razor Crest slowed down to a trot, panting. Din thought he might throw up. 

Karga was grinning widely. “Very impressive.” He said.

Din thought he might throw up. He hoped he wouldn’t; that would probably ruin the moment.

“Looks like your rates have just gone up.” Karga smiled

“Anymore soldiers?” Din asked.

“I think we cleaned up the town.” Cara said, setting down the kid. She smiled slightly. “I’m thinking of staying around just to be sure.”

“You’re staying here?” Din asked.

“Well, why not?” Karga said, almost defensively. “Nevarro is a fine place. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s very respectable again.”

Din almost laughed at that, managing to climb down off the Crest. “As a bounty hunter hive?” He asked. 

Karga looked offended. “Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters! And perhaps,” He glanced at Cara. “You might consider joining our ranks?”

Cara smiled, taking off her coat to show off the Union symbols again. “May be a bit difficult for me.” She said.

Din felt a tug on his arm, and glanced down to see the kid nestled against him, looking relaxed. He slowly put his arm around the kid’s shoulders, feeling a bit awkward. 

“If you would agree to become my enforcer, your past would be the least of your worries.” Karga said. He turned to Din. “But you, my friend, are welcomed back with open arms. So, go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have the pick of all the quarries.” 

He was quiet for a moment, glancing at the kid. “I’m afraid I have more pressing matters at hand.” He said. 

Cara reached forward, gently ruffling the kid’s hair. She smiled, a bit sadly. “Take care of this little one.” 

“Or maybe he'll take care of you.” Karga said.

Din nodded, helping the kid onto the Crest, and then climbing himself. Everything still hurt, but it was duller, as if his mind subconsciously knew it was over. For now, at least. 

*** *** ***

The burial was hard.

Din had no shovel, and dust kept filling up the hole. But he kept at it. Kanuna deserved that much. 

The kid found a hawk feather after Din was finished with the modest cairn, sticking the feather between the rocks so it stood upright and proud. He stared with glassy eyes, close to tears. 

“That’s very nice.” Din told him. The kid sniffled.

The burial had taken all night, and when they set off again, the Crest in a choppy canter, Din noticed something shiny in the kid’s hands. 

“What do you there?” He asked. The kid looked guilty, but held up the object. It was the Huitzlipotchli, the one he had worn for years, gold glinting softly in the rising sun.

He paused, seeing a small spot of his own blood on it. He wiped it off. “Didn’t think I’d see this again…” He said softly.

The kid looked up at him, eyes wide and trusting. The copper wolf weighed heavy on him, but it was his burden to bear. It was scary-terrifying-but he would not abandon his clan of two. (Plus one asshole, he thought with humor as the Crest picked up sudden speed for no reason).

This was the Way, after all.

“Why don’t you hang onto that?” He said, carefully putting the pendant over the kid’s head, the gold clinking against their turquoise. A strange mix, one that would possibly clash violently, but it could not be avoided.

And they rode off into the unknown, vague shapes against the red sun. 

*** *** ***

Gideon gasped, jerking up. The vulture that had landed less than a foot from his squaked in protest, beginning to fly away. It didn’t get far before Gideon shot it.

His shoulder burned, as did the rest of his body. The sun beat down on him, punishing him for his hubris. He looked at the dead bird with some morbid amusement. If he was Icarus here, then there was his wings!

He forced himself to stand, yelling in pain when the bullet still in his shoulder jostled. 

Beaten, but not dead, he stumbled, surviving on rage.

And, he thought to himself, gripping the tiny obsidian figurine in his coat pocket, a bit of magic.

A scream echoed through the desert, like that of a cat.

Which was odd.

 _We are not so different, vaquero_ Gideon thought, smiling at the black jaguar, pacing and snarling before him.

_I, too, am both hunter and prey. But now, it is my turn to be the hunter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. don't lie. those stormtroopers were fun and i would want a cartoon series if they hadn't hit baby yoda  
> 2\. i was like this close to not killing isaiah cause hes fun to write but :(  
> maybe i'll do some stuff for him the in the oneshot series
> 
> anyway, that's all guys! i really be throwing my bets in because i already decided what artifact to give gideon, despite having no idea how that darksaber plays into season 2, i may have made a mistake.
> 
> anyway, thank you all so much for reading. this was fun, challenging, and new for me to write, so i hope you enjoyed it. ill be back for season 2 (god its so far away) but in the meantime, i'll be updating the other book in this series with one shots periodically.
> 
> i love you all :)
> 
> may the force be with you and all that nerd shit

**Author's Note:**

> theorize on whether those fuckers from star wars rebels are gonna be in season two and get updates on my tumblr!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/toadintheroad


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